The most terrifying Scroame

Before reading this, it must be explained that we wrote this together at the exact same time, resulting in aggressive literary combat through which injuries were inevitably sustained.


Good afternoon, boys and girls.

I wish to tell you about an event which occurred on the noon of october '10

t'was a clear, autumn day on which the crimes unfolded.  They began with the discovery of a fine offer 2 garlic baggots for five score tuppeny bits. It quickly became apparent that the baggots were merely in sainsbury's, a fabled  clothier. instead we headed west, to waitrose, purveyor of rare herbs and prescribed medicines.  The troops were rounded up one by one and once the three musketeers had gathered they rode forth to duckbizzle's, the euphoric beats of young mr 'tom jenkinson' spurring them on.  The risk of a comma splice in the near future became apparent, and we dove for cover.  We then began to gather supplies.  

Here is a shopping list;

-bread

-sweetroll

-beer

-medium sweet cider

-soup (with a hint of basil)

-bramley apple mush

-hob nobs

-half time orange and twix

-free water from that jug that inevitably ends up spilled over the table/floor/nearest groin

Mounting our graceful steeds, we went the wrong way. then changed our minds about the right way but found many a log. we were deeply disturbed by the ferocity of the log and ashamed by its magnitude.

Our next location was the little known meadow behind waitrose. the journey through the heavy shrubbetry was most arduous, almost claiming the life of our fondest hero, duck "flaming lord nelson" boy. This was only avoided because of our immense scroaming stamina, and masculine ankles. The location itself was marked by a feral turd, a multitude of deadly chunks, a fearsome beast to behold. As luck had it, we were surrounded by tremendous leaves, and towering bristles, we flicked the shit away with the bristles and squatted down on the leaves so as not to wet our arses.  we also doused the shit with leaf.

We sat down in a ring and used a swan to start our fire. Its delicate plumage was the ultimate tender tinder. We exerted a small amount of pressure on the swan, which rendered it unconsious while we removed the liver and balsamic emeralds.

Now that the fire was roaring, we were able to warm our chilled hands (and dry of the shit from the log), we were beginning to fear that they had fallen prey to frostbite and gout. We agressively munched on and roasted occaisionally the hobnobs, with a small preceeding side dish of cheesy trapesoids. we quaffed vast quantities of the foul smelling cider, and massaged our throats with the delightful ale.  The halloween themed sticker was casually combusted, in the name of our good friend amis. And a request for additional beverages made. The handsome Billy, and aged Benjamin strolled heartily through the waitrose carpark to the small barclays bank, opposite, from which they withdrew one thousand pence. With such riches, they purchased a bottle of refreshing white wine, a bag of peanuts and a hessian sack of large, heavy, chewy cookies. They returned with these products to a repulsive session of group urination, which was extremely embarassing.

Now reunited, we danced for many minutes and drank all the wine. Jamie refused peanuts.

A crack of thunder ripped through the skies and a mighty hurculean figure stepped out of the gloom. This figure was the majestic leader of the cult of waitrose, and he came bearing word of a complaint from the neighbours of waitrose. Such gods can not be argued with, lest battled so the scroamers withdrew from the conflict with haste. Obviously not before cheekily heading back for further (de)hydration.

We next turned our gaze to the south marston, realm of untold damp and moistness.

On the mighty trek up the hill, we became separated, but only briefly. At the top of this hill we span by ninety degrees and rolled down to the old railway. We knew now that we must hold our tongues, for fear of being discovered by residents of virtue. We rambled for a good many hours, some say weeks, and found ourselves at the edge of a main road, the sheer splendour of which sent duckboy into a sleepy swoon.  A period of confused waiting was endured, much urine was spilt and cider quaffed. We consequently decided we were lost and sought to retrace our steps.

After retracing our steps, we found ourselves at an entirely different but familiar location, which was greatly confusing.

The alcohol kicked in and we were reduced to crawling and insanity. Our minds stopped functioning properly, and we frequently damaged ourselves. We placed Jamie's mobile telephone phone atop a petrol cube and watched the two burn ferociously (Im afraid you were burning it intentionally, and at the marsh I remember very clearly, though there wasnt a fire, just a burning phone we must consult the scroam council for a second opinion. It is very true. I kicked the phone off the burning cube (ok) and you were furious because you really wanted to burn it). We waved cheerily to a few trains, but alas, no reply. Max and Duck boy admitted who they were in love with, and though their names are not mentioned here, a detailed pdf with such information can be found below.

We spoke of terrible things, and Billy played his uke briefly, but thought it inappropriate, so hurriedly put it away.

the end

or is it?

presumably