Max pulled out his iPhone and measured the temperature.
'A balmy 20 degree's Celsius.'
The Pixies, from some extinct blonde race, perhaps descendants of the Scandinavian God of Beauty, Balder, were clad in skin-tight catsuits and were just drop dead gorgeous and were feeling me and Max up.
It had to be their welcome greeting.
They were about our height, but being fed on a fish diet and fruit and vegetables that have never seen a pesticide/insecticide, they were chillingly primitive in their perfection.
Max pulled out his magnetism gadget which gave a very high reading.
'Looks like they have created their own magnetic and aurora shield through some kinda high tech prism that only the military have dreamed of,' he speculated.
It was Utopia, the land of milk and honey if those full pendulous breasts finely tailored in their cat outfit was anything to go by.
We purred, and the ten blonde warriors surrounding us, resembling more Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders than citizens of the lost city of Atlantis, purred back at us.
Things were looking very promising.
