It was a miserable day indeed. John had a cold, Paul had the flu, George had laryngitis, and Ringo had a sprained ankle. Everyone was either sniffling or vomiting or wheezing or hobbling. When George needed help, he couldn't yell for it because all that would come out was a whisper. Ringo couldn't go to get help because his ankle hurt really bad and he couldn't walk. Paul was so weak that if he walked five feet he would collapse. And John would probably be too busy blowing his nose and sniffling. So most of the time they just sat around being miserable.
     A knock came at the door.
    "Cud you adser dat, Rindo?" John asked, sniffling.
     "Ow- ooch- eep- no," Ringo replied. "Get it, George."
     "I can't get up," George replied. "What if they have to talk to me? You get it, Paul."
 Paul sighed. "I guess it's me again." He opened the door and threw up all over Norm's shoes.
     "Oops," Paul said.
     "Some greeting, eh Norm," Shake said, blinking nervously.
     "Quit being so cheerful! And stop being taller than me!" Norm cried. He and Shake walked inside. "So, how is everyone?" He was greeted by a wheeze, a sneeze, and a groan.
     "You're a- you're a- ah- ah- ah- CHOO!- a swine," John said, wiping his nose on Norm's sleeve.
     "This will not do. You've got a concert tomorrow!" Norm cried. He walked over to George. "Well, at least someone's feeling healthy."
     George tapped his throat.
     "What do you mean?" Norm asked.
     "I've practically lost me voice, you nit," George replied.
     Norm sighed and hit himself on the head. Shake shrugged and said "Might as well cook up a pot of chicken soup, eh Norm?"
     Norm walked to Paul. "And what's your problem?"
     "I thought you knew. I threw up on your shoes. I have the flu." Paul replied.
     "Oh, yeah." Norm walked into the bathroom to wipe his shoes off. The front door had been left ajar, and an old man came rushing in carrying something under his arm.
     "I got it!" he cried. "I got it! I can help you boys with your little ailments all right here!"
     Paul smacked himself on the head. "Grandfather?" He then regretted hitting himself and expressed it very clearly.
     "Oh, dear Paulie, how you must be sufferin'! Here y'go." He reached into his doctor's bag and pulled out a bottle of cod liver oil. "I know ya like this stuff. It'll help yer ailin'." He poured some into a rather large spoon. "Now swallow it down."
     Paul looked warily at the spoon, then reluctantly did as his grandfather told him. He then ran into the bathroom and promptly threw up.
     From the bathroom:"Oops...sorry, Norm."
     Paul's grandfather walked over to John. "Got a bit of the sniffles, do ya, son?"
     "I'b dot habing any of dat stuff you gave Paul!" John cried.
     "Now, don't worry, John boy, I got somethin' else fer ya. Lessee here..." While John (McCartney) was rummaging through his bag, John (Lennon) pulled the blanket around him in his chair and pulled his hat over his eyes. Shake pulled a cookbook out of the shelf and went off to the kitchen.
     "Where do you think you're going?" Norm asked, pointing a stern finger at Shake.
     "I'm going to fix up some chicken soup," Shake said cheerfully just as Paul threw up again in the bathroom.
     "Here we are!" Old Man McCartney pulled out some moldy bread. John looked up and saw the bread being shoved in his face.
     "Aaaggghhh!!!" John stood up and dove over the chair. Paul's grandfather beamed.
     "Y'see? He's recuverin' already!" he cried. George pulled his collar over his head as the grandfather approached him.
     Norm came out of the bathroom. "That's the last time I'm cleanin' off my shoes, Paul McCartney!" he exclaimed. Paul threw up yet again.
     "You poor little George fellow...can't talk!" Paul's grandfather pulled out a package of dirt. "Take off yer shirt like a good boy."
     George gave Mr. McCartney a weird look. "Okay, Doctor Nutbag," he said, but fortunately because of the laryngitis, Old Man couldn't hear him anyway. George peeled off his turtleneck just as the grandfather scurried off to the kitchen.
     "Wonder what he wants with you then," Ringo said.
     George tried to growl, but all that came out was yet another wheeze. Paul came back in, looking miserable. He propped his head up on the arm of the couch and fell asleep next to John.
     Paul's grandfather rushed back in with a bowl full of mud. "Now, George boy, sit up straight," he said. George did, and Paul's grandfather took the spoon and put mud all around George's neck.
     "What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?!?" George exclaimed, trying to dodge the muddy spoon.
     "I'm curin' you!" Grandfather McCartney said proudly. "Now sit still!" He finished with George and went over to Ringo. Ringo cowered as the man approached.
     "Let's see what we can do for you, dear Ringo," the old man said. He removed the bandage from Ringo's ankle and pulled out an extremely large plant leaf and a bottle of thick yellow stuff.
     Paul groaned. "Not the famous McCartney salve! Cures all aches and pains, yeah, uh-huh. It just turns your legs yellow and makes you itch."
     "Well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Paulie! It ain't my fault you have an allergy to the most wonderful cure-all substance in England!" Mr. McCartney cried.
     "Yeah, me and every other McCartney he's tried it on," Paul grumbled. "He's got an allergy to it himself."
     "Be quiet and let it work its magic. Pull up yer pants leg, Ringo old boy," John (McCartney) said. Ringo, not wanting any further scolding from the old man, did. The grandfather spread the yellow stuff on his ankle and wrapped the leaf around it. All of a sudden, Ringo began giggling.
     "Now exactly what- wha- wh- ah- ah- ah- CHOO!- is in there? Some kinda hallucinogen?" John asked.
     "No," Paul said. "Whenever someone tries it they usually start itching like crazy. Wonder why it's acting so funny on Ringo."
     "Well, in case you've noted, Ringo isn't exactly a McCartney," George remarked, trying to get the old man's remedy off of his neck. He couldn't, because it had dried like cement. George had a permanent collar.
     Norm stroked his chin. "I'll be back in a moment," he said."I'm going to the store." He walked outside.
     A few minutes later, Norm returned with a bag full of peppermints.
     "What are those for?" Paul asked.
     "Each of you boys get one of these. They should help," Norm said.
     "How?" Ringo asked with a giggle.
     "They always worked on me." Norm passed them around.
     "Nah," John said. "It won't work on me just 'cause it works on- on- on- ah- ah- CHOO!- swines."
     "Just take it, Lennon, or I'll shove it down your throat!" Norm exclaimed.
     "It's going to go down me throat anyway," John replied. "Oh well." He finally gave in. Norm went into the kitchen to help Shake.
     "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-CHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" John's peppermint then flew from his mouth like a rocket and whacked the back of Norm's head.
     Norm turned around, walked over to a chair, sat down, and made a very interesting observation.
     "Maybe this isn't working as well as I thought it would." He looked worried."We've got that concert tomorrow, and nothing is working!!!" He stood up and, with a deep breath, began to pace. "I give up!"
     Norm then walked out again. Paul applauded. "Good show, John!"
     Another knock came at the door.
     "Isn't this a popular place," Paul said, going to answer it. There was the dignified studio director, terrible sweater and all.
     "I heard you were ill. Well, since your gig tomorrow is at my studio, and MY CAREER rests on it, I've come to offer some assistance," he said through gritted teeth.
     "How thoughtful," George said, beginning  to get a little silly. "If you knew the poor pain and suffering we were enduring in this cold chamber with the sighs of the wind howling at my doorstep, I would tell you that I would be much lonelier than in a warm suburban house with lots of kids and a dog."
     "Oh...I see," the studio director said. "Well. I heard that John Lennon was having a bit of a cold. Well, I know what to do for that." He walked up behind John and pounded him repeatedly on the back. "I'LL BEAT IT OUT OF HIM!!!" Once he was through John looked even more miserable than he had before.
     "He probably beat the snot out of him first," Paul grumbled.
     Shake came out of the kitchen. "Say, where do you boys keep the potatoes?"

Page 2