They made me bloody write this, you know.

Bloody'ell it's gettin' so a bloke can't get on without bein' bloody interrupted every ten minutes - I mean, there I am, busy sufferin' from an arm bein' eaten away by acid, an' a leg wi' more of its insides on the outside than where they should be, when, bloody' ell an' all the rest, everythin' goes an 'gets a case o' the static electrics, goes on the wobble an buggers off out of existence into a bright sparklin' void of magik blackness: anyway, in the midst of all o' this, I starts hearin voices, which gradually gets more clear, an' then I'm suddenly in this room at a table wi' weird humans sat round it - an' worst of all, I've been bloody turned into one of 'em, some runty little git wi' bad eyesight, and I aint even got me sword no more. Still, at least I 'ad me trousers, which is more than I can say fer one o' the other lot, who was wearin' somebody else's underwear for some reason. Each to their own, I suppose.

Bloody weirdo.

Anyway, it soon turns out that all of us funny-lookin' lot (meself, the one in the underwear, one with a blow-up plastic parrot and a soap- willie, an' the last with a ribbon on his 'ead an' bits o' shiny wood on 'im) are the lucky bastards from the world we live in who happen to 'ave been chosen to do some mission for them soddin dwarves (who, I might add, were the silliest lookin' buggers at the table).

They proceeds to tell us what they want us to do for 'em this time, but first we have to find out who we all are: me, it's obvious; the others, well - the weirdo in undies is Ashtoreth (might've known); the bloke with a spare saveloy is Fulto Brim, and the head case other bloke is that little git Fugiarma the mongoose.

Anyroad up, the two bunnybuggers start spoutin' about somethin or other of incredible significance that most of us ignored as best we could, jus' managin' to catch somethin' about 'the dwarves in black' that was probably really important but went totally over our heads, so bugger it. Then we gets down to the seriously silly business of what we've bin brung for: the rabbits gives us this list o'spell bits an' bobs that we in our new skins 'ave gotta get from 'this fair town of Rochester', so we can stop somethin' or other big an nasty happenin to the universe by way of some black void of eternal eventualities an' all that bollocks; anyway, ere's the list, just so you know......

half a pound o' non-rum fudge;

a king-sized mars bar;

two cornettoes, or summats, unmelted;

a handful of grass from the castle grounds;

a beermat from one of the local taverns;

leaflets from the station of the local constabulary, and from the 'estate agents';

a representation of the Cathedral;

a motto from the castle walls;

one Blood Ball;

four leaden statues;

one spare tyre,

and a can of Fosters lager.

So begun our great an' glorious quest - though wi' a bit less greatness an' not much glory. Off we all bloody went to gather the stuff, wi' the dwarves givin us summat called a 'fiver' and expectin' change at the end of it, whatever that meant.

So we buggers off an' starts lookin for this stuff, an all at once the other three start behavin' like they know their way 'round, while I know sod all. We goes round a corner an' there was millions of humans - barely much better than all these bloody animals there's been jus' lately. We go past the station of what passes for the local militia, an' Fudgey wotsit buggers off inside, runnin' out yellin summats about pigs, an' carryin' a bit o' paper wi' 'crime up yer crack' or some such on it. Then we finds the castle an' start tearin up the turf, wonderin' why there's tons of people starin' at us, (it's times like this y' really need a good sword). Then we crash about a bit lookin' for the motto thing the dwarfs was on about - we finds a metal plate sayin'

"Greater love hath no man

than this bloke who laid down on his dead mate"

- or summat like that - obviously written by some complete twat - but we ignored that one, havin' a suspicion that the dwarves would be more interested in the slightly more cryptic,

"Mon-Fri 8.00 am to 6.00pm

Waiting limited to 2 hours

Return prohibited within 2 hours"

Don't ask me.

Then we hits the town, an there' s more bloody humans an' lots o' shops. We got the mars bar thing and the cornettoe - which turned out to be, respectively, a small brown turd gone 'ard an' a dribbly cold thing; we got the fudge too, and the stuff from the agents. Yours truly swiped a beermat from the pub, and we got the can o' drink somewhere else, along wi' the piccie of the bloody cathedral. Meanwhile, we still had no 'blood ball', no lead statues, an' no spare tyre, but no bugger seemed to be selling 'em.

Anyway, we got back to the house an' dished out the stuff to the dwarfs, who proceeded to woof the bloody lot, cheeky bastards. No sooner had we sat down, though, than all the wobbles go off again an' we're back in our proper carcasses, in some big room full of small humans, yellin' at the top o' their gobs, an' starin' at us as if we're the funny-lookin 'ones.

This magik booming gob yells, "FOUR CONTESTANTS FOR THE FIGURE-PAINTING COMPETITION" - an' wouldn't ya know it, us four gets dragged in: five minutes t' paint a poxy figure, an' what do I get? A friggin' elf, that's what. Five minutes later there's four sicky-coloured lead statues, an' I don't even win - nooo, honours go to that bloody banana-arse Brim.

Next off, we're in some bloody quiz, everyone wi' buzzers an' bleep things and havin' a pee please bob all over the place - didn't win that, neither, so sod it. No sooner's that done, than BLAP an' us four's on this mucky old road wi' lines down the middle, an' vroom noises comin' at us, blokes on motorbikes turns up an goes past. Then a couple of coppers arrive in a gun-happy car an' start shootin' at us, an' old Brimblebum manages to get in the way and gets pasted all over the road like some flat splattered burnin' heap thing. We're all gettin' a bit pissed off by now, so we start havin' a go back at 'em, and end up gettin' us a free car for our trouble - complete wi' spare tyre in the boot.

Just as we were leavin', more cops pull up so we fuck off sharpish: I 'afta sit in the back wi' Fruitloop sort of stickin to everythin, not that he's in much shape to do owt else. Fuddley and Ashtray are up front tryin' to work the drivin' stuff. Just for summat different, tons of flashy lights and shit, an' then we're surrounded by a big dark thing wi' glittery bits, an' there's a big silver boat an' it's got tractors comin out of it to drag us aboard, where we meet this little get dressed in black with a sort of tin can on his 'ead and laryngitis or summats. Anyhow, it so happens he's gonna torture us - Fudgey gets zapped for talkin down to him - well, gotta take whatever chance he can, I reckon - then the dark-dressed dip takes me in a little room an' me ratklin' gun goes off 'accidentally' (wups) right on his nut. The others has similarly not-very-long-lastin' ordeals an' suddenly we're in some arena thing.

There's a bunch of me own meltkind starin 'at us, all of 'em wearin' spikes, chainsaws, and stuff, an' one of 'em has got a ball - last thing on the list! I'm thinkin', right, let's get these furlined bastards lads, but then I notices these other melts is wearin poncy stripey shirts an' dressed like a right bunch of twats so I decide I'll kill alla them instead, since we need the ball, after all.

An 'orn goes off, an' these melts starts runnin' towards us, an' we thought, sod it - let 'em score, then we jus' take the ball an' bugger off wi' it, but then we decides it's more fun to make a decent scrap out of it an' get a goal of our own an' bloody rub their noses in it.

So 'ere we are strugglin' wi' these chainsaw-chuckers an' my gun keeps goin 'off all over the shop, an' Funcheese and Ashbreath are chuckin' swords about - even the big monkey's doin summat useful for once, knockin a few heads left, right an' centre. Eventually most o' the melts are down, an' I'm jus' about t' score when a substitute comes after me: he weren't that likely t' catch me, but y' never know, I might 'ave fell over or summats, so I had t' turn round an' run back the 'undred yards or so to kill' im, din't I? One bloody nil, shitwick.

BLAPP!

Suddenly, this void opens up behind us an' starts pullin' us all at it, so I end up draggin' Ash along while Footspa gets a grip on Fatload - who's in the process of castin' some sort of void-avoidin spell (sort of thing he's meant to be good at....well, there's gotta be somethin, right?): the fox is doin 'er best to help with 'er own unique form of encouragement - which seems to involve gettin' me bits out and doin a bit of professional work on the old long-tom, if you get what I'm on about - dunno as it helps much though, bit distractin' if anythin - but she seemed to be enjoyin 'erself (an' quite proud that she'd notched up another of The Six).

Jus' as we was gettin' used t' puttin' the effort in, old uurthy manipulator 'imself gets this spell off an' turns the void pink. Fuggy lets go an' drops Footloose right in it, where 'e zaps out of existence closely followed by Foojee 'imself since he'd got sod all left to 'ang onto.

So, wi' the spell gone off, me an' Ashtrough figures its safe, so we lets go an' start headin for it when - yeah, you guessed it - the soddin' void comes back, an' we have to get away from the bastard thing all over again.

After somethin like half an eternity, we reach the doors at the far end of the hall, an' we're greeted wi' the completely unexpected yell of "What kept ya", ha bloody ha.

Anyway, congrats from the bunnies for savin' the universe again, an' then back thru the mnemenomenominominon an' I'm where I belong, wi' me rotty arm an' me busted leg an' some bug bastard shovin' a spear in me guts.

Right, back to work.