T'is three days yonder a smurflings swarming eve when a group of vagabonds snotty and crusted in soot came upon this town with news of strangeness from yonder far.
A tale of a small boy no taller than a behemoths stinging tooth who travelled far an wide with a magical device from kingdom to kingdom in search of his long lost love.
The device would press onto the back of a turtle shell the songs of sirians and noble toads he met on his way the bewitched banjos of the cowboy kingdom to the west that played merry barnyard tunes without the aid of men, the sunshine songs of the wild wolf pups as they partyed round campfires on the shores of the great acid lakes or the deft percushion of a beetnik millapede, he battled many a dark knight on his path lords drunk on power and fame but met many a new friend as well giants with gardens of flossweed betwixt there toes the whiff of which or indeed the toke through a fairy pipe could bring back memories of happy times and his great lost love or a lizard man with scales of diamonds and rubys branded outlaw in many a kingdom so to be hunted for his skin but who cooked a wicked curry.
At last his journey ended by the banks of a great river, it ran in currents of many colours each with the taste of a multitude of cosmic fruits and where it eddies new worlds were created and where it broke on the rocks universes where dashed asunder, here monsters dance in harmony to the songs of butterflys and his long lost love sits spinning him a cloak from the manes of unicorns.
And knowing his quest was over he gave the turtle shells to the men of the mushrumps ASHRA, CONKER EATIN GOON, EGGWATER for he knew they had been secretly watching and guiding him on his quest, and it was fortold that on the night of the 13th in the 11th month of the 2004th year that the mushrump men shall present the sounds of this adventure, and that men and women will come together in there best MEDIEVAL FINARY with brews of merryment and talk of mischief and that youngers from th SKULL SCHOOL shall play alive some merry tunes in honour of our great adventurer.
So Come ye all Fleshbags and marching trees and even ye metalmen from your factorys and mills. For on that night you are free amd all your troubles will be washed away with the sounds of glenfolk and fellpeoples from great other times and a swarthing of healing light.
...Oh its UPSTAIRS AT FUEL WITHINGTON 13/11/04 teatime till late PASS IT ON