Ross was a Mexican hippie, as such his mental development had been directly influenced by swimwear fashion's assimilation of Klingon home furnishing. A surprisingly boner-inducing combination. Sun-bleached from too many episodes masturbating in the flat's solarium, totally out of sight from anyone except the animated Jesus .gif on his laptop. His health affected by the CO2 emissions of a contingent of porcelain Mickey Mouse water jugs instead of the usual cast members, for days on end. Under its heat the solarium can change the parameters of erotic toys' hinges – where we'd be looking at a set of totally different joints moving in swamp lava, skulls like bearings – befuddled by their amazing skull moves. Alone grinding a wedding dress from a sleek beautiful fish's tapering surface. How long afterward would you be licking your toothbrush? Did you know the little organisms that caressed the bristles had stone-blood in them? It was bought at a gift shop on a Klingon war vessel, its peeling decal on the handle was wonderfully sinister, disparaging Ross's halitosis instead of providing encouragement to combat same, also it sounded like a buzzer – totally bad (the toothbrush did) – as it brushed over teeth that craned their necks like the spouts of really hot beers. (“The set's atmosphere - the entire sitcom's atmosphere – is too funereal! I'm staying here!”) Brushed sort of between them but not really ... saliva full of isotopes that clumped into wart-like asteroids in contact with Jennifer Aniston's nipples, leaving the latter broken and tasting of wet glass. “Turn off the radio, will you?” she says – in his hair as he rolls over she sees evidence that wax and motion sickness DO mix. Soon conditions return to normal, they're listening to a sound that's still safe to listen to.