Ding my dong, today we drink to the last drop – or till we drop! Fourfingers had us pitch camp near Delenfer Pass, and to keep from going daffy with boredom we set out on a little reconnaissance mission and happened across a merchant caravan. Sadly, we got a bit carried away – instead of gagging and hog-tying them, the lads sharpened some stakes and stuck the fat feckers on them. That was terribly exhausting work, but we had good fun doing it, and no cleft kisser can take that away. There was one skinny snipe amongst them, but we left him for later. What matters is, their wagons were packed full of quality wine just begging to be guzzled!
Naturally we established watches, so not everyone would get shloshed at once, as is only common sense. My fool of a papa used to say: Sonny, the most important thing in life's to like your job. Do that, you'll be happy. That feeble pate was a carpenter. No tart-twiddling idea what he liked about smacking at wood, but bumbotch him anyways. Geezer's been pushing daisies for ages now. And if he were alive, I'd write him a letter like this: Papa, I like my work. A whole lot. And thanks for teaching me to read and write, because now I can let you know I give absolutely zero fecks about your advice.