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Heels 1969

Sargarova Sploding Primii - or How Peat One The Day

Sargarova Sploding Primii - or How Peat One The Day

In dribbles and drabbles they did wend their merry little ways into O-How. That even. It was, of course, the Fool Whyheeny trip and great were the butterflies of those seven brave masochists. Two females, one shorty and one tall, came to verify the start of this great event. We shall call these women, for fear of interrogation and for purposes of disguys, Rosary and Amoeba. By one hour before midnite all (nine in actual fact), were wizely within walls and pits, dreaming, drooling, snoring, fiddling, flatulating, digiting, frowning, muttering, sniffing, coffing, larfing and praps even sleeping, who nose.

The rizing hower (rhymes with shower), was set at 4.30 a.m. (a joke of coarse). The keenest, one they call 'Beloved Keaf', wanted to be 'cheef getteruper'. He's sadisticle by nature and so they let him.

30 minutes plus tard he were up, and out of pit cooking, (if that be the term), his late supper which he jokingly called break-fast. Indeed it were 5.a.m., dark and starry. "God Save the Queens", and god save them indeed, was sung by all and everyone began to 'cook' their 'late suppers'. Twards the end of this ritual a warning was issued by one Neve, whose duty it was to observe, that Beloved Keaf's long suffering primii should not be blazing so merrily; or should it... a pause and ... Too Late!!!! It rawed and blew. Up went the flames, licking in vivid blues, greens, oranges, violets and even indigo at the wall. Our Beloved Keaf advanced in the heat and raging light toward that little beast, burnt his fingah and retreeted, pretending that his fingah was stopping him from doing it again and praps again. Some even went on with their 'cooking' as if they weren't putrified, 'ignoring it' is the phrase I believe, all the whyle suffering page 13from their own little attics of die-aria. Yelps, kurses, kommands and whimpering from Keaf... heat... efforts with a billi from Gooder (who was really worser). To no avail. The wall was burning. It smoked, glowed and threatened us all with winking, red-ember eyes. Pits, packs, plimsolls, polypads, people and prickers were too near the flaming flames that were getting fearsah and fearsah. Amoeba, acting sanely, went white with fright in the bright light and retreated outside pit under one pseudopod. Rosary, poor lass, on her patellas, gazed heavenwards and muttered Ave Marias, we think. Panic was near at hand. Evacuation (which rhymes, funnily enough with constipation,) was suddenly In. Consider:-

"Can I have the pleasure of this evacuation."


"Evacuate now. Avoid the Xmas rush."

or even

"Evacuation? I love it! I love it!

Anyhow all were, as you may have guessed, absolutely putrified. But. Into the circle of fearful, flummoxed, flamelit, festering facades stepped Peat. He was smouldering and burning slowly as often Peats do. Also he was ower leadah. He advanced. Advancing was In. Corrugated ion in hand he did scoop, (what an impotent word), that little barstard out of the corner. Smirk on his facade, he strode with flames trailing, "Over pit, over pack, over shit and out of shack" out into the night where he did fling the primus with much foul language toward Beloved Keaf. Inside the smoulder-hole the peasants were strangely subdued, humiliated even. Outside the little beast rawed on like an epileptic fit, distorting itself, until, so the legend goes, Peat and bladder took pity on it and silenced it forever.

Compared to this episode, the Fool Whyheeny was insignificrint. Rosary and Amoeba, exhausted with exhaustion gained a Bivvy and crapped out along with Hewie. As for the seven brave Masochists, they pretended to enjoy swimming in the icy waters, in wind and rain for 48 hours but really their minds, if indeed they originally had any, were back at O-How, back with the flames, back at 5.00 a.m. back with the fingah, back with the corrugated ion, back with bloody full bladders, back in pit, back-way-back, back....