Just a flesh wound. What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers? The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land? Oh! Well, what are you, then? Oh, let's be nice to him. We're Knights of the Round Table. We dance whene'er we're able.
view all comments
I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! You make me sad. So be it. Come, Patsy. Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. Right! Arthur, King of the Britons, your Knights of the Round Table shall have a task to make them an example in these dark times. Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical! Well, why not? Not only by surprise, but totally unarmed!