Devolution

Rule Number 9 in the Q Dimension: Everyone whose name begins with the letter J is superior.

Back at the spaceport, Roger was in something of a panic. Aside from the dark and mysterious skid laid out on the asphalt in front of him, he had absolutely nothing to go on. (Not that Roger really needed to go right at that moment, but if he had, he would have at least had the decency not to go on a dark and mysterious skid. There were people around and stuff.)
Roger's panic increased. "Mnhmnhmnhmnhhhh!" He groaned, jumping on the spot and flailing his arms like a 6-year old whose Mummy is taking too long talking to Mrs Jones and if she doesn't hurry up we're going to be late home and I'll miss cartoons on the telly.

A gust of wind blew a dark and mysterious piece of paper up from the carpark, where it had been resting, dark and mysteriously.

Roger continued to panic. At this stage his panic had developed beyond a moan to grinding his teeth, sweating, and humming a U2 song. The last of these being particularly annoying.

A second gust of wind blew the dark and mysterious bit of paper along the carpark a bit, leaving it to rest at Roger's feet, oh so helpfully.

Roger did not notice the but of paper, so severe was his panic. At this point he had begun to growl a death metal song while hopping on one foot, flapping his arms like a seagull and rotating on the spot - yes, he was that panicky and afraid.

A third gust of wind lifted the bit of paper up off the ground, conveniently blowing it up into Roger's face so that he could not possibly miss it.

Roger at this stage was in such a panic that indeed he did possibly miss the bit of paper. He had his eyes closed and he was howling the Norgwegian national anthem (translated into Klingon), shadow boxing the air while tap-dancing the entire Riverdance with his feet. Oh, and he'd wet his nappy.

A fourth gust of wind had had enough, and in frustration it cried "Oh, to hell with it!", picking up the bit of dark and mysterious paper and slapping Roger across the face with it to break him out of his Norwegian reverie.

"Hey! A bit of dark and mysterious paper!" Roger cried.

***

ROGER, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm at this stage. He had reasoned that, being a giraffe, there wasn't much worse that he could really devolve into. I mean, the whole Frank thing was absolutely terrifying, but that was a few hours off yet and he had hope that someone would save him, that being the typical conclusion to adventure stories such as these.
Obviously ROGER had never met Lark and Musings. It was also probably good for his optimism that he didn't know what Roger was up to at that precise moment either.

The truck rumbled on towards its destination.
"Where are we going?" ROGER asked politely.
"To a dark and mysterious hideout!" One of the thugs (not Harold) answered menacingly.
"Shut up, Percy!" Another thug (Harold) called out. "Don't tell ROGER anything! Knowledge is power, and we want ROGER as weak as can be! Muhahahaha!"
"I mean, we're not going to a dark and mysterious hideout..." Percy said.
"Thank you!" ROGER responded politely. ROGER never was one to forget his manners, even in a dark and mysterious truck such as this.
"Would anyone happen to know when my first devolution will happen?" ROGER asked, again politely.
Percy scratched his head for a moment, and leant forward. "Not in 2 minutes..." He whispered.
"Thank you... I mean, AHHHH STINK!" ROGER replied, perhaps a tad less politely.

2 minutes pass rather quickly when you're freaking out. And POP! Roger devolved into Ryan Seacrest.

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