...quoth the medievil torture device, although I can’t see it working. A heady mix of heavy metal and the heavy, heavy monsta sound.
However, they then go on to blather on about running off to the hills to save their lives. Now, this is all very well for Hobbits escaping the deluge coz God’s dunked a warmed up hob nob into Leona’s tea, but these bad boys are all about slaughter and mayhem and pillage in the village.
It’s a very poor tatical move to run to the hills, as there’s probably them maurauders up it already, as whoever has the higher ground has the advantage. Besides, even running to the hills would get you mown down by a cavalry charge of warhorses.
If you’re gonna run anywhere, you can run to the trees, as there’s lots of hidey holes, you can hide up a tree, and branches (or a bit of twine twixt trees) will nobble any galloping gormster trying to do you in.
All of which is academic, coz you’d ring the police if a horde of befurred bezerkers descended upon your little hamlet, trampling your cigars and setting you’re thatchery alight.
Yes!!
999 - the number of The Police!
Hey Sting, bring your daughter the slaughter, venue: My house (it’s the one in the middle of our street).
Actually, that’s not entirely true, for if the house was in the middle of the street, then the cars couldn’t get past, for La Maison De Madness would be in the way! Truth be told, it should be "Our house, somewhat central in the line of domiciles that line the sides of the street. On the left. Or right, if you’re coming from the other end".
Unless there isn’t another end, and it’s "Our house, in the middle of a cul-de-sack".
Cul-de-sack indeed! Sounds like a purging of scrotums to me!
