Lambert walked

Through the forest, shrouded by the night and mists, it was eerie and quiet and calm. The spectral figure he'd hoped to find emerged, finally. Paul approached cautiously, but once he saw the kilt and American Football jersey clearly he relaxed.

"Alright Axl pal."

Axl fiddled with his Bandana before growling his reply.

"MMMMMM DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE?"

Paul knew where he was, he knew exactly where he was.

"Am I dreaming pal?"

"YEAH, WAKE UP PAUL"

"But I don't want to wake up, I want to stay here with you"

"WAKE UP PAUL"

So Lambert woke. The rhythmic tones of the teasmaid shattering his reverie. He arranged his fingers into a fist and punched the device off. Say what you like about Karsa, and Paul frequently did, but that cat could program the s**t out of a teasmaid timer, any make. He didn't want to go run around in the cold with those stupid f**king children in the goddamn Tolly Cobbold Arena of Training. He wanted to eat tinned curry, listen to Guns n Roses and scour Tinder. He was sick of giving everyone else a hand. Where was Paul's hand?

Then, as the dying teasmaid gave it's last bleep, the answer to all his woes became clear. He stood up on the bed, wonderfully naked, and reformed his fingers into fists. Oh the lads were going to get a hand alright. Welcome to the jungle, pal.

Posted By: MIKEWALKER, Nov 29, 08:14:42