Omg. Story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with The Mighty Boosh, although I did buy my boyfriend a Mighty Boosh shirt for his birthday. I also down own anything to do with Nicky Clark, so shut up!

Summary: "Straighteners, Nicky Clark; hottest you can get, fell asleep on them when I was pissed!" What happened after this? Vince loses his straighteners and has to find them again, somehow!

Erm yeah, I was suddenly hit with inspiration, so here you go. Yes there will be more chapters. Comments are much appreciated, constructive critism is worshipped, flames are laughed at etc. You know the drill.

Chapter One
In which Vince falls asleep on his straighteners.

Was everything orange here, or was it just his eyes playing tricks on him? Vince Noir, punk, goth, king of the mods, new wave explorer and maverick extraordinaire stood holding onto the wall next to him, blinking dazedly at the orange glow that bathed his vision. It took a while for his brain to realise that he was actually only standing under a streetlight with an orange bulb in it, and it was at this same moment that he noticed how very pissed he was.

How odd. He didn't have that much to drink did he? Just one or two cocktails, here and there.. Or was it three or four? Actually, he'd lost count after 10, or was it 20? Oh, it doesn't matter, what was he doing under a streetlight anyway? Anyone would think he was trying to be some sort of prosti-

"Vince?"

The whimsical youth's brain decided that now was a good time to remind his eyes that someone was waving a hand in front of them.. Or was that his own hand? No, no.. It was definately someone elses. Where was he again?

"Vince!"

The hand was clicking now, right in his face. Vince raised his own to try and swat it away like an insect, but ended up poking himself in the eye. A chuckle somewhere to the left of him finally persuaded his eyes to focus and there he saw Howard Moon, man of action, tortured poet, jazz lover and colon explorer.

"Stop tha'.." He mumbled, suddenly feeling tired.

"Come on little man, it's time to go home."

How the fuck did Howard do it? Even when he'd sat for hours drinking pint after pint after pint, he could still stand up, act sober and click his fingers like he'd been drinking water all night instead. Sometimes it pissed Vince off, seeing his best friend walking in a straight line when he could only manage a crawl with the wall as support, but usually he was too wasted to care.

What did Howard just say? Oh right, home.

They were lucky enough to live across the road from the only pub in the area that served cocktails as well as lager, so getting home didn't take too long. Yes, it took longer than usual due to Vince's inability to walk in a straight line, and his refusal to walk across the zebra crossing, claiming it was staring at his soul.. But.. Well it wasn't too bad anyway.

Howard checked his watch as they reached the door to the flat, it informed him that it was 2:06 AM. Naboo and Bollo would probably still be awake, watching Star Trek or some other weird show that everybody claimed not to like but had secretly watched a few episodes of anyway. The two never seemed flustered when people walked in on them watching programmes like this. As the Shamen had said himself, there was no Star Trek on Xooberon, this was the only chance he was going to get to watch it. That made sense.. Right?

"Howard?" The quiet voice of his companion pushed itself past his musings.

"Mmm?"

"I don't feel very well."

"Try to wait until you're in the bathroom if you're going to be sick, okay?" Howard opened the door and allowed Vince to enter the flat. It was strange how people could change when under the influence of alcohol. Some people would become merry and laugh a lot, some would go quiet and depressed. Others, namely Vince, would stop being a punk, goth, king of the mods, new wave explorer and maverick extraordinaire and become a normal person, almost. Of course, Vince Noir could never fully be a normal person. That would just be plain weird.

Howard climbed the stairs after his friend, nodding to Naboo and Bollo who, rightly predicted, were engrossed in an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Honestly why did Naboo have a bed again? He rarely used it, and it was one of the most comfortable beds in the house, made from the finest silks on Xooberon which are apparently a lot finer than the silks made on Earth. The man of action turned his attention to Vince, who was staring in the mirror looking horrified, his nausea apparently forgotten.

"I need my straighteners.." He muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You're about to go to bed!" Exclaimed Howard, giving his friend a strange look. "You don't need to straighten your hair, you can do it when you wake up!"

Vince shook his head, making his way slowly to his bedroom, "What if a burglar breaks in whilst i'm asleep?" He questioned, "He's rummaging around, can't find what he wants, walks into my bedroom, finds me asleep with my hair a mess, takes a photo and there you have it i'm on the front page of some horrible magazine looking like Old Gregg!"

Howard made a face at the mention of that funky manfish. "Why would a burglar have a camera with him?" He wondered.

"He obviously stole it from someone elses flat." Replied Vince, as he entered his bedroom. Various posters and pictures covered the walls, with doodles and drawings filling the gaps courtesy of the maverick himself. They were mostly of weird animals, a few Charlie pictures could be seen here and there as well. In the corner were a stack of cushions that were very useful for sitting on when applying the days make-up and doing your hair. Vince paused as he picked up his straighteners (Nicky Clark, hottest you can get, of course) from the floor where he'd left them earlier that day. Maybe straightening his hair wasn't the best idea when he was drunk. But then again.. If a burglar does break in and take a photo.. Vince turned the straighteners on quickly.

Settling himself down onto his mountain of cushions, he placed the slowly heating up utensil next to him, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his boots off. Oh it felt like stepping into a bath filled with the finest moisturisers known to man, his boots were gorgeous but they didn't half hurt his feet sometimes. Vince let his head drop back onto the cushions and shifted slightly as he felt the hot straighteners graze his stomach.

Howards head appeared around the door. He eyed the scene suspiciously, "Don't fall asleep with your straighteners on. You could burn the house down, or yourself."

Vince looked confused. "I could burn myself down?"

"You could burn yourself. Make sure your straighteners are off before you go to sleep." Why did Howard sometimes feel like he was Vince's dad? He might look it, but they were the same age! He gave a pointed look towards the straighteners to emphasize his point and went back into the front room, shutting the door behind him.

And 30 seconds later, Vince was fast asleep. The straighteners pressed against his abdomen.