After a good 24
hours of continuous drinking, the stinky old man and the intoxicated
William went in search of something to eat. Despite not sleeping
since he left the King's castle, William had never felt so good. Yet
there was something nagging him from his mangled mind; something that
made him think that there was a creative task he should really be getting on
with. But for now, he needed food and he was drunk.
The two men
scrambled out of the woods and stumbled over a few fields and arrived
at their destination. A small town called Pussygalore.*1
"There's a
bakers down that alleyway," said the tramp, pointing to a little
cobbled street. "Why don't you see if you could get us some
bread?"
"O.K."
replied William, "But where are you going to go?"
"Me? I'm
going to stay here. Never have I been able to get food from this
place. They just don't understand a word I say. As a consequence, I
have learnt to survive on a diet of bugs, moss and the occasional
dead mammal."
"Right, well
I'll try not to be too long" said William. He took a big gulp of
the magic drink, returned it to the tramp, and snook off through the
little shops and houses, bumping into lampposts and burping loudly as
he went. He eventually reached the counter of the bakery and politely
asked for a couple of cheese and onion pasties and a large wholemeal
loaf. The baker, assuming William to be an aggressive loud-mouthed
retard, ran towards him brandishing a French stick and chased him out
of his shop. Gingerbread men were hurled at his head whilst the baker
called him names that he could not understand.
Having failed in
his quest for something to eat, William decided to return back to the
tramp. He wondered what he had said to the baker to cause such
offence, but then remembered what the tramp said to him about the
magic drink and it's anti-social side-effects. Hopefully he
thought, the tramp has found a dead badger we can have for tea.
But there was no
dead badger, and no tramp either. He's obviously buggered off to
find some moss. All of a sudden, William developed an acute pain
in his liver upon noticing that the magic drink had buggered off too.
He had grown fairly dependant on that bottle.
"Right
then." announced William to nobody, "I'm not standing for
this!"
As he fell over,
he heard the not too distant screams of young women in distress. As
best as he could with his hands clutching his painful side, he
followed the noise to a neon-lit street in Pussygalore. And there in
the middle of the street was the tramp being kicked and punched by
several women wearing high heels and short skirts.*2
*1
Pussygalore was famed for it's catteries.
*2
Women in short skirts and high heels: sportive ladies who leave
their doors ajar.
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