He escaped the drudgery of his back yard; Titanic was found and too the missing Pyramid of Nepean to say nothing of Snow White and the eighth dwarf.
After he had done he was tired so he lay down in the grass and knew that the world was good. Closing his eyes he slept and dreamed of bunnies fairies and wild hamsters frolicking with gay abandon.
An evil leaned close and kissed his cheek he knew he was doomed. Opening his eyes he gazed into the heart of darkness. . .the dread lord Monday looming impossibly over the horizon.
“NO!!!!” He suggested and grabbing the one ring of power from under the raffia work planter mats he sang the song of his people to summon the great and powerful Uncle Harold.
Together they trekked, arm in arm, to the mountains of the east; over hill and under dale; he on his trusty steed and The Harold in his luxury air conditioned limo; all plumbers travel this way.
At last they found their way to mount Gloom but he was too weak from all that work with the Titanic. The Harold was forced to carry him up the mountain swearing at and cursing the name of Monday; into the fiery chasm he hurled the “one ring” and Wicks with it. Then Harold said, as Wicks disappeared from view, “Now Fuck off Wicks; dont call me again.”