*undergrowth erupts in flame, suddenly encapsulated in small and shrinking pocket of non-death, immense heat singes frigid, inner mists of 'self', which condense and are expelled earthwards via the urinary tract with surprising vigor, seemingly endless stream of melancholic self-mist-urine acts as an auger of sorts and bores an escape route through layer after layer of subterranean mumbo jumbo at a pace slightly quicker than gravity is able to reconcile, falls for what seems like minutes as the reassuring and familiar moonlight illuminating the point-of-entry becomes but a faint memory, lands [very briefly] on hard surface, which struggles to bear the brunt of his chiseled physical form and dozens of gallons of urine moving at near-incredible speeds, and immediately crumbles, falls a bit more, and finally comes to rest with a piddly thud on naked buns in a small and windowless, but oddly familiar room, looks up to see a nude Danny Glover, sitting in a captain's chair, smiling...*