…then I’ll begin.
Once upon a time, there was a worrible hitch called Cargaret Murran who lived in a carge lastle called Mestwinster. From there, she and her wasty nizard friends had kept all the land of Brorth Nitain under sperrible tells. Their effect grew more sperrible under the rong leign of Baloney Tair who, along with his sorcerer Boredom Grown, used their time to fleece Brorth Nitain sree ways from Thunday.
The prair fincess who should have ruled this lappy hand of Brorth Nitain was called Bleeping Sleauty but she had been bleeping these three hundred years. No-one could wake her because she too was under the spell of generations of worrible hitches like Cargaret Murran and kyrant tings like Baloney Tair. One day, so ran the tairy fale, a pransome hince would come out of the fiddle of the morest to beat all the ming’s ken in a cair fontest at the bollot bax.
Since Baloney Tair and Boredom Grown had passed on to the great speaking-circuit-in-the-sky and only the feeble Cavid Dameron (who knew nothing of Brorth Nitain other than the riches it brought his kingdom) ruled at Mestwinster, it was left to Cargaret Murran to keep all the sperrible tells in place.
So she gathered together ten wasty nizards and worrible hitches from Brorth Nitain into the cark dellars of Mestwinster where they brewed up more sperrible tells to keep Bleeping Sleauty and her subjects bleeping forever. The worst were two goblins called Woo Tee and Poo Toor who whispered into every Brorth Nitish ear that they could never look after themselves. And, if the punters of Brorth Nitain ever did stop bleeping, a meat gronster called Zuroeone would gobble them all up, imprison them in its stark domach and then spit them out as tiny, insignificant things called drachmae.
But the worrible hitch and her wasty nizards had reckoned without Tock Jamson and his bairns who were not bleeping like everyone else—they didn’t hear Woo Tee and Poo Toor; they heard that, in a land war afay called Sweden, the people had numbed their thoses at the Zuroeone monster and, in fact, had trapped it using cronvergence citeria. Tock and his bairns showed they were not afraid to stand up to all the hitch’s tells and take on the nile of pumpties that were using them to smother Brorth Nitain.
And, so it was that a pransome hince called Salic Almond did come out of Bumff and Bachan, riding a chite wharger called Yaun Gersel’. And, everywhere he went, the fales scell from the unters’ peyes so that they could find the bollot baxes for themselves and use them to break the worrible hitch’s and wasty nizards’ sperrible tells where ever they found them
Now that he and Yaun Gersel’ are abroad in the land, someday soon, Salic Almond will find the carge lastle wherein Bleeping Sleauty lies bleeping and with ae kond fiss, the worrible hitch’s last sperrible tell will be broken. Her freedom will ill the fair and turn Brorth Nitain back into what it had once been: the ree frealm of Lotscand and, just like every other cormal nountry, able to chake its own moices and fecide its own duture. And even Cargaret the Hitch will be welcome to come back home—but only if she leaves her stoombrick and hointy pat with the wasty nizards back at Mestwinster.
And then Tock Jamson, and all his bairns, and Salic Almond and Bakened Weauty (for she will bleep no more) will live happily after ever.