On a day of fret (a cold and wet mist that has travelled in from the sea), nearly a smirr (a fine drizzle), five Cowabunga lads, three sporting shorts, one wearing trousers and one gloved with funky mechanic's overalls hiding prison blues underneath, ventured forth at Mar-A-Lawno to complete two rounds. All were prefunqed, masked and deranged, especially the mechanic.
As the other blokes blazed around the dampening course, Wick O'Shay, a Southside Thane, held back, disguising his brilliance in an ablach display. Eventually, he emerged from the gloom, revealed his true and daring nature and made the others look like bampots, diddies, fandans and radges. Aye, he won.
The second round went to Mr. Wicket. As the sky thickened and grayed, facing a hungry and cold Lefty, somehow Mr. Wicket found within himself the Braveheart spirit and prevailed.
During the bleak afternoon, like Superman or a metamorphosising caterpillar, Sticky the gurk, struggled out of his mechanic's overalls and burst out in prison blues. Unconstrained by the protective but binding garment, Sticky's game improved a wee bit.
Alas there may have been some great shots or plays, buy yours truly was too prefunqed to recall them. To those who excelled, ma head's minced. Sorry for being dighted.
Lang may yer lum reek.
1 comment:
Aye! I am still looking for my Pacifico! I brought 2, and gave one to the Mechanic! When I went to get my Pacifico it was gone! The Mechanic was now drinking 2 beers! Maybe the Mechanic thought he deserved the second beer when he disrobed into his prison blues!
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