Well fellers, I tell you, I bin done stuck with a strange bunch ’o buggers…
…Shore thing, sugah. Just keep’em them pints a comin’
Anyhoo, like I was sayin’. Weirdest bunch ’o misfits I ever done seen.
First, there’s this bald feller, calls his-self Thelonious, or Theo, or some such thing. None too purdy, and about as dumb as a sack of hammers, but he shore is sumthin’ to see fightin’. Arms an’ legs a’flyin’ every which way. Knock you right into next Fairday. He don’t drink none, bein’ all monkly an such, but I’s a gonna be taking care o’ his share of the hooch.
Hey, Sweet-thang! Another round for these fine boys, here! That’s a girl.
Ears claims to be like a hunnerd fifty years old, or sum such, but he looks more like fourteen. Ain’t never met me one o’ them elverly fellers before, so I don’t rightly know if he’s just pullin’ my leg. Gotta give ‘im credit tho’, fer bein’ such a beanpole, he sure swings that curvy sword like he means it. He wuz drinkin’ this fancy-dancy wine from back on his own homestead. Tasted like someone dumped a bunch o’ berries in Aunt Maud’s rheumatiz medicine and then filtered it through a rabid hog’s bladder. An’ you’d be needin’ to drink a barrel of the stuff just to get a decent fuzz goin’.
Uuuurrrrrrppppp! The good stuff always tastes as good on the way back up…
The other ugly bugger’s got hisself some big long hoity-toity name, Squire Maxi-sumthin’ Hoosiwhat. Even uglier than the first one. At least Baldy still has half his face there. Scars might be a great big bull of a fella, but I’ma gonna hafta teach him about swinging’ sumthin more’n a big damn stick at the bandits. He weren’t too big on the hooch neither, tho’ he did take to that there fancy wine that Ears was drinkin’, so he might be one o’ them fellers who’s a bit light in the codpiece, if’n you know what I mean.
Another round? Don’t mind if’n I does, just let me chug this last bit here….
The last feller’s more of a quiet type, a bit shifty-lookin’, if’n you ask me. Seen him sneakin’ around during the fight, hard to keep track o’ him, even when you knows he’s there. Prolly could sneak up on a snark-owl in an open pasture on a full moon. Reminds me a little o’ Stickly, from my ole regiment, one o’ the pathfinders that wuz sposed to find the enemy afore they found us. Woody looks a sight more healthy than ol’ Stickly. Maybe less likely to catch that itch from the camp whoors and have his Johnny fall off.
Hey! Sugah! I’m dry over here! Why don’t you bring me another pitcher.
And your twin sister can come sit here in my lap an’ keep me warm.
An’ stop wobblin’ around so much, wouldya?
Well, how about that…sumbuddy carved their names in the bottom of this table…too fuzzy to read tho. Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a sec….