Verily last night our heroes didst set forth upon a night of revelry that didst lead them to many emporiums of devilry, whereupon comely bar-wenches and strapping bar-blokes didst say unto them "Come hither, my child, and I shall fill your goblet with a delicious liquid of many hues of black and white, all for the modest sum of four and a half of your shekels."
And lo! The liquid was indeed most delicious, and it filled our heroes with the sensation of being cleverer and funnier than perhaps was strictly true. And it emerged that the liquid made the torturous sight of the writhing snake-man-beast of Western Iberia lifting a rather large and supposedly significant silver jar somewhat less torturous.
Our heroes didst trek from cave to cave, in search of the cave where they come drink longest and most deeply from the magical fountain of Arthur. Sometimes the ogres guarding the cave had to be slain in order to gain entry. Not with sword and shield, but with kind words, eye contact and a smile.
Nay, tragically, upon the witching hour our heroes were granted access to the fountain of Arthur no longer, and were cast forcefully from the cave by said ogres with the curious cry of "Have yiz no homes to go to?" Whereupon long and bewildering conversations didst occur with an ancient scribe from an 'independent' periodical whose name escapes us right now. Then our hero bravely ventured forth in a chariot steered by a Moorish fellow, reluctant to engage in witty dialogue with his passneger, but more than willing to take from him the princely sum of 16 shekels. "Fare thee well young charioteer!" our hero cried as he tarried forth into the night, having been dropped at his place of residence.
Which he entered and proceeded to log onto his blog and post a picture of a nubile young Australian soap star and type complete gibberish. He knew the fact that he could barely see the keys would lead to many a speeling mistake but he did not care.
Don't drink and blog kids!