"All in the Xian Family" (Eliot and Ayla decided to change their last name to Xian for the duration of the trip, as it sounds a bit less sinister.  Ayla refused to change her name to "Alice.)

[Queue "Our House" by Madness]

[Opening credits roll over a montage of daily scenes from the "Xian" household.  Nick mixes two chemicals into an explosive accident, Al flashes a thumbs up while wearing his dark shades, Tom stares vacantly at a window after tossing a baseball through it, Ayla shakes her finger at the boys, Namor does a double take, Pywacket swishes his tail and hisses, and Eliot shrugs and heads down into the basement.]

The camera pans across a skyline of urban Boston.  A freakish lightning storm dominates the dark sky. Lightning strikes close to the Boston Commons, then, suddenly, three adults, one infant, and a black cat appear on the surface of Frog Pond.  One second later they fall into the pond, drenched.  Ayla quickly dissolves into water, still holding the baby who seems thrilled at this development, and Namor, though wet, appears perfectly happy.  Eliot scowls, as he storms out of the pond carrying the cat which has surgically attached itself to his shoulders.

Pyewacket: Nice move, wizard.  Why couldn't you drop us in an abandoned warehouse full of juicy non-mutated mice?

Eliot: The science of time and dimensions is a tricky area.  At least Ayla is fine.  In twenty seconds Namor will realize his new suit is ruined.  I think I'll leave him to himself for that.

[The camera follows Eliot as he makes his way to the edge of the park.]

[Eliot approaches a well-dressed young man on the street]

Eliot: Excuse me, could you tell me what year it is?

Man: (Laughing) 1985!

Pywacket: 1985?

Man: That's coool!  It almost sounded like that cat could talk!  Do it again!

Pyewacket: Oops.  I mean, my name is Pyewacket.  I am a talking cat, but since cats in this hideous dimension are all mute, I am really a ventriloquism trick.

Man:  That was indeed most awesome.  I have to catch the T and meet some dudes in Kenmore Square.  You want to come?

Eliot and Pyewacket in unison: No Thanks.

[Man does a double take and leaves.]

Pyewacket, softly: Why are we in 1985?  I thought we were going to stay in the same time frame?

Eliot: If we want to send up in 2005 at the end of a twenty year excursion, we need to start in  1985.  I didn't tell Ayla since I was afraid she'd object to the idea of living in such a primitive time.  1985 isn't that different from 2005, but for some people it is easier to show them than to convince them.  Let's find someplace where I can turn some gold into dollars that don't say "2002" on them.

[Cut to Ayla, Namor, and little Nick]

Namor: Just look at me!  That idiot husband of yours just ruined a $2000 Armani suit!  (Namor tears the wet clothing off his body, stripping down to a very small Speedo bathing suit.)

Ayla: Dad!

Namor: I do 500 stomach crunches every morning.  I have no shame at the appearance of my body.

Ayla: You promised Eliot that you would not call attention to yourself while we're here.  You can't walk around practically naked.  People here have never seen a super-being.  They wouldn't understand.

Namor, glowering:  You are right.  I gave my word.  But, what am I to do now that my suit has been reduced to shreds?

Ayla: While we're on the topic of clothing, those girls over there appear to be wearing leg warmers.  I've only ever seen those in movies made in the eighties...  I'm getting a funny feeling about this...

[Cut back to Eliot and Pyewacket, standing outside a seedy-looking shop with a sign reading "We buy gold!"]

Eliot: This must be the place.  (muttering under his breath) where is Hamlet Laughton when you actually need him?

Pyewacket: Are you sure about this?  That place doesn't look like a good place for a couple of high class cats like us.

Eliot: Cats?

Pyewacket: Cool cats, you know, local lingo.

Eliot: This is the eighties, not the seventies.

[enters store and approaches proprietor]

Eliot: I'd like to sell some gold.  How much will you give me per ounce?

Shop Keeper: I think the going rate is $150 per ounce.

Eliot: I think the current exchange rate is $512 per ounce.

Shop Keeper: Then go to a bank.

Eliot: They said to come here.

Shop Keeper: Exactly.

Eliot: How much will you buy?

Shopkeeper: How much you got?

Eliot: A lot.

Shopkeeper: Come in the back where we can talk.

Eliot: OK, but I'm in a hurry.

[walks in to back of store, where shopkeeper draws a revolver and points it at him]

[Cut back to Ayla and Namor.  Namor is wearing the shreds of his suit, a bypasser shakes his head and hands him five dollars.]

Namor: I will not accept your handouts.

bypasser: I'm sorry to offend, but sometimes we must set aside our pride.

Namor: You will apologize right now and withdraw the offer.  If you comply properly, I will not obliterate you.

Ayla: Dad!

Namor: He must be taught a lesson.

[Ayla shoves the man aside and drags Namor off down the path.  The baby starts to cry.]

Ayla: In this place, you are not the ruler of Mu.  In this dimension, Mu doesn't even exist.

Namor: Doesn't exist?

Ayla: Don't you ever listen to anything anyone ever tells you?

Namor: No Mu?

Ayla: Not here.

Namor: Atlantis?

Ayla: No nothing.  Just boring and mundane regular humans.  Only fish live underwater?

[Namor Collapses on a nearby bench.]

Namor: This is going to be a long, long twenty years.

[Cut back to Eliot, holding a huge pile of cash]

Eliot: I knew that reason would win out.  He just needed to get a proper understanding of the way exchange rates are supposed to work.

Pyewacket: I had no idea you were a master of Kung Fu.

Eliot: One of my many talents.  When I'm facing a psychotic super-villain, I'll tend to use the extra-dimensional rifts, but when facing a regular Joe, Kung Fu does the trick nicely.

Pyewacket: With a groovy kinda stylin.

Eliot: Eighties.  We're in the eighties.

Pyewacket: In this place, I'm just a ventriloquism trick.

Eliot: Let's find Ayla and the baby.  And Namor.  Then we can deposit this in the bank and look for a real Estate agent.

Pyewacket: My man!  Let's find a pad with lots of mice.

[Cut to a the front of a quaint row house, painted a loud, glaring blue color, a row house that looks suspiciously like the one in which the writer lived at one point in his life.]

Ayla: I love it!

Namor: I detest it.

Sihn, to the real estate agent: I don't get a vote, so I guess we'll take it.