[Mu appears, holding a large, weighted pugil stick and looks thoroughly confused by it. When he speaks, it addresses the Plane at large.]

Often, I can guess who's behind the changes in my home, but this has me quite baffled. Who cares to claim ownership?

[When he enters the Plane he looks pretty ill about it. Either the trip made him woozy or it was whatever booze and/or pills he had consumed earlier that was making the trip feel like he was at sea. He slipped about on the floor, stumbling around in his underwear as he tried to get his bearings.]

Ooooh...Ohhhh...dat's space. [He fell onto all fours by accident, forehead against the floor-not-floor.] I'm pretty sure that that's--yeh, dat's space. I can tell, I know what space looks like. I can't believe I did it, like I-- [He swallows thickly, like he might be sick, but he manages to tap it down and get back to his feet.] Eugh...gettin'...gettin' space sick, heh. I discovered space walkin' and space sickness, shit, if I wasn't the richest fucker in the world already I'd be-- [He gets distracted by staring at a particularly nice and swirly galaxy, then he looks down at his empty hands.] Oh . . . oh no . . . I dropped the ham somewhere. That was good ham. Gaht it frahm the fridge.

[He turns as if to double back to look for his deli meat, but he only half turns and merely starts off down another direction, mumbling to himself.] Lookit me, m'in space. Pickles he drummer. Pickles the space drummer. Gaht to space by fuckin' magic. Heh, I'm fuckin' magic here, wait till I tell the odders, they'll be so--so jealous. I'll eat that ham in front of 'em as I tell 'em and they'll be all... [He stops, one arm akimbo and the other scratching his scalp.] Where the fuck did I drop my ham, gahdammit.