But wait! who is this bursting thruogh the gates of the grate hall,
rending noble brave ect wariors left and right with terible swooshes
of his mitey clores? It is the monster GRENDLE chiz aka Sigismund the
mad maths master who hav burst his chains at the ful moons lite and is
even now roming abrord in serch of reffreshment hem hem. Who can face
this feresome enemy? Who hav the honner, the courage, the fiting
spirit, the mitey mussles of ripling steel (cheers, shouts of manly
encouragement, also cries of rubbish, get on with it clot ect) to
stand befor the rampaging feind and uterly tuough him up?
"Peason," sa I, who am not called the gorilla of 3B for nothing.
"Fetch me the skool crickit ball and also yore revolting rugby sock
that hav not been washed since the start of term. For the hour is upon
us when perchance the nesessessery hero may arise, it is a far far
beter thing I do than I have ever done ect"
Peason turn very pale and scutle off, for he also hav seen that
film about who is the pater of this nick hem hem, and kno better than
to argue with such a renowned buly as yors truly, espeshally in a
moment of crisis my dere...
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