"I had one in my pocket" Paul admitted ... "What do we do?" Ask George ...
Sorry it's a bit long ... But at least it's not boring (;
Okay, here we go.
Paul slid a stout pack of cigarettes from his side pocket and popped one out with his finger and handed it to John.
"Well do you have a lighter?" sneered John.
Paul patted around at whatever clothing he had left.
"Yeah John, I always keep a lighter near my genitals" Paul replied sarcastically.
John emitted a fierce exhale in frustration. "I need one now!"
"It would've been useful, maybe we could've burnt a hole in th-" he paused. "Hey!" he piped as he dug into the side of his boxers. "I've got a hole in my pocket!"
George looked dumbfounded and disgusted. "Did you pull that out from your ass? You might need it after dinner."
"No, look!" he grinned as he pressed the hole onto the glass. He then hovered his arm into it, and whipped his head in excitement towards the other three.
"Hey Ringo, well done! Now move!" John walked past Ringo as he crawled into the hole, to the other side.
The other three had managed to slide out of the hole and fixed themselves up.
"What now?" George said in dull enthusiasm.
"Oh, there's the hatch!" Paul pointed at the handle sticking from the ground.
They all ran to it and heaved it open. " Oh good, we're still in Minnesota." John said in a relieved tone.
They all dropped themselves through the hatch and fell with a thud onto the icy, crisp grass.
Ringo was dazed as he forced his back up, he gasped.
There was a puddle of greenish matter boiling on the grass, with their clothes swimming, decomposing, within it. The aliens DNA wasn't able to withstand the oxygen of Earth.
"Thank God!" Paul cheered as he hopped over to look at the deceased enemies.
"Yeah, that's great, but we need to finish our vacation." George brought up, pointing his thumb behind him.
John paused, looking aside in thought. "Yeah," he shrugged with a lackadaisical expression. "besides, this really isn't the weirdest thing that's happened to us."
"Whatever, let's just go! My feet are getting tortured from this ice!" He said while fiddling his feet in place.
They sprinted to the road nearest to them and flapped their arms hysterically for a car to pick them up.
"I want me clothes!" Ringo mourned as he shuffled his hands up and down his goose bump invaded arms.
They scanned the black, winding road for any sign of light, anything that could keep them from getting any unwanted illnesses. George, by this time, wasn't doing to well against the cold air without proper clothing. All he had were his underpants and socks, and with his lack of body fat, he was vunerable. He resembled an escaped victim from a concentration camp. "God, George you need to be checked up" John said in amazement, his expression contorted in concern.
George was in mild tremors as his eyes rose from underneath his eyebrows. His lips were pale and he looked sickly.
"It's because you're so skinny," Paul pinched George's bare arm. "You haven't got any fat on you."
George slapped his hand away and his eyes traveled beyond the road, longing for any hope.
"I wish I knew where we are right now." George forced out in a controlled voice.
"Yeah... Where's Emmi??" he complained.
Then, a sleepy line of light came into view on the aged road. They were saved.