Squat Hole Squaredance
Chlamydia Skronky looks round Booz. Everything is going…OK. Custom is…average. Acceptable maybe, but not good.
Chlamydia Skronky has complained bitterly and fruitlessly about Su's new business strategy of allowing independent breweries to operate in Squat Hole, with none of the resulting licensing fee, coming back to recompense for her loss of trade.
To add insult to injury, it seems that Kebabs and Shite has been doing really well recently, a fact that Impudencia has lost no opportunity to mention.
Big Su Skronky has been impressed with this and has also lost few opportunities to point this out to Chlamydia, going so far as to suggest that she might like to take tips from Impudencia.
Chlamydia Skronky has in fact barely managed to avoid having some of Impudencia's ideas foisted upon her, pointing out that while offering “uh litur uv grease wiv uvry meal” might work well with food, it is likely to work less well with beer.
Chlamydia Skronky is now fed up to the back teeth with hearing about KnS. She needs to come up with her own scheme for attracting custom to Booz. Mulling this over for a while, she comes up with an idea.
Time Passes
Chlamydia Skronky comes out from Booz into Squat Hole town square. Standing on an upturned bin she starts shouting. “UVRYWUN FACKIN LISTUN. PISS UP IN BOOZ. DANCIN, SPUSHUL PROICES NOW! GIT YER ARSES ERE NU!”
Word quickly spreads round, and squats flock to Booz, drawn by the promise of “spushul proices”, and mistakenly believing this to mean “cheaper”.
Inside Booz
Chlamydia Skronky comes back in from the town square, and starts the piss up going. After much consultation with Nettle Skronky, the new prices for this afternoon are set at: Mudwiseacre at 10 req a glass, Wanker for 50 req.
Chlamydia Skronky waits a few minutes for Booz to fill up with enough squats to get started. First up, a rousing patriotic sing song from Veruca Lynn. “Lerrus av uh pint, squats of Squthul..” she starts the first verse.
Chlamydia Skronky and the other, already slightly inebriated squats all join in once the chorus is reached. “Thull ulus be uh Squthul. Whul thurs a pile uv shite. Wuruvur thur's a fuller smull jus luckin fer uh foit.” and so on.
Chlamydia Skronky has arranged more entertainment. A square dance! Outhouse O'Leary the famous Farthorn player steps up. He has spent the afternoon in training, eating piles of fortnight old brussle sprouts and kebabs.
Cantankerous Biggs, will act as caller, with Scumbelly Perkins using an empty beer keg as a drum. The squats line up in pairs, and the dance begins.
Cantankerous Biggs calls out. “Ur yu ruddy? Luts GO! Luds furst. Stamp upon yur purtnerz toes - box er firmly un thu nose!” Outhouse parpity parps away as the squats carry out the instructions. The squat lasses want revenge, and don't have long to wait.
Cantankerous Biggs “Nu ludies. Knee yer purtner un thu balls - luft knee, roit knee, dun ee fulls.” the lasses need no second bidding, and there are soon squats rolling on the ground.
Chlamydia Skronky fails to notice that the candles lighting the place are starting to burn a funny colour. Booz has good ventilation due to what the squats think of as squat ingenuity, and everybody else calls jerry built rubbish.
Chlamydia Skronky's alehouse hasn't got that good a ventilation though, and Outhouse's emissions are starting to build up. Unnoticed by anybody, there is a strange yellowish haze developing in the pub.
Cantankerous Biggs “Und thu luds. Poke yer fingers in her eyes - listen closely to her cries.” The bar is full of howls of wrath.
Cantankerous Biggs “Guls Grab yer purtnur by thu hair, swing im round, ear im swear.” The air is full of squat cursing, and indeed, the squats themselves. Effluvia Bird's particularly enthusiastic swinging of Asbo Riley catches Bilious Jones in the mouth.
Cantankerous Biggs watches Bilious let go of her partner Testicles O'Brian, who goes flying across the room into another group of dancers, knocking them over like nine pins, and taking out one of the stakes supporting the tarpaulins on the way.
Cantankerous Biggs is about to call the next verse, but the tarpaulins are coming down, wafting Outhouse's exhaust fumes in waves over the candles. Things start to catch fire, and anyway, the dance is rapidly progressing to it's natural conclusion. A punch up.
Chlamydia Skronky's pub is now one big brawl, in toxic fumes, smothered in burning canvas. A highly successful party, that will be talked about for weeks to come.