[A Guest Post By Grand Uncle Stagnant]
So, this is the way it goes. This is where you are and that is the smell of your socks. Our bananas are made of loincloths and we adamantly refuse to adopt the trousered stances of those who would pontificate to excess about the most mundane and trivial of matters. As if the doings of politicians and others of that ilk could be anything other than mendacious. We here laugh at such affectations and are quietly amused by such pomposities.
Therefore, you oil the badger and I will obtain a bicycle pump. We will become like the heroes of yore, standing proud in our resplendent underpants while those of less-stern stuff simper around at our slipper-clad feet.
You know - only-too-well - the awesome power we will be able to thenceforth command, and you must know too the fearsome responsibility that lies heavy on the shoulders of one who would dare wield such overwhelmingly powerful weapons as the pointed stick and fully-loaded protractor.
Together, then, let us spread marmalade over one-another's thighs in preparation for the battle to come.