Will and The Set - his gang - Douglas, Ginger, and Eric, were enjoying the school hols. Taking advantage of an unusually rain free summer, they were sitting in the Den, in the Bluebell Woods, reading a bunch of magazines which they'd shoplifted from the newsagent's earlier that morning as they tried to work out what to do next.
"Any ideas, me fine mateys?" Will ventured, glancing briefly up from this month's copy of 'Topless Natural Cuties' magazine.
"S'ppose we could go adventurin' again..." Ginger said in a dull monotone.
"Nah," Douglas said. "We done adventurin' yesterday and it wasn't all that good."
"It was alright though," Ginger countered. "With that beer we nicked from the Co-op. Proper mullered I was last night..."
"Zackly," Douglas groaned. "I'm still paying for that. Me gob feels like the bottom of a birdcage and when I go the bog, I'm pebble dashing. Nightmare..."
"What did you 'ave for tea yesterday then, Douglas?" Will ventured. "Summink shite, I'd bet."
"Cream cheese on toast," Douglas replied. "Wi' curried beans on top. Horrible it were. Me arse has bin on fire since about half-six this mornin'. Now I know how that woman feels on me dad's porn DVD..."
"Wot..." Will's interest made itself evident. "Your old man has a porn DVD?"
"He's got loads of 'em," Douglas said. "Keeps 'em in a shoe box on top o' the wardrobe. He thinks I don't know, but I do."
"So which ones has he got, then?" Douglas enquired. "I only ask, because my old man has a shitload of ladyboy ones, wiv these Chinese blokes who've got willies - and boobs. But they look like proper women. They're not though..."
"Eurrrgh!" Will groaned. "That's sick."
"'Ow d'ya work that out?" Douglas wondered aloud.
"Well..." Will sputtered. "Wot's the point of 'avin pornos wiv blokes wiv dicks? I mean, it's not like you could shag one or nuffink. I mean...where would you put it? Surely the other bloke's would get in the way...?"
"They just rubs 'em together," Eric confided, momentarily glancing up from 'Latex Weekly.' "S'what they do. I heard me nan talking about the very subjeck on the phone to me uncle once..."
"Wot?" Will wondered. "Rubbin' willies together?"
"He's right Will," Douglas said. "S'wot they does. They rubs their willies round about and that's wot makes 'em 'appy, like..."
"I wasn't axin' you, Douglas," Will groaned. "Your trouble is that you've got an opinion about everythin' but you know nuffink about nuffink..."
"I knows about them ladyboys," Douglas said defensively. "Me dad's an eckspert. He had one round our house a few weeks back when he thought I wuz at skool. Big hairy geezer he wuz. In a dress and 'igh 'eels. Had hairy arms, a bristly chin, tattoos, an' his name was Maurice. Him and me dad rubbed willies..."
"So where was your mam while all this was goin' on then?" Will demanded to know.
"Dunno," Douglas admitted. "Prob'ly down the bus stop or the taxi rank suckin' the drivers off for a tenner. Like usual..."
"Wot's that then Douglas?" Ginger asked.
"Suckin' off taxi drivers - or bus drivers - wot does that entail then?"
"Dunno really," Douglas admitted. "But every time she goes doin' it, her knees is red raw and her hair's all matted up. And her face gets a bit scaly. Sez it gives her the nausea."
"The nausea?" Will queried. "Int that a submarine or summink?"
"Prob'ly - she keeps on sayin' she's sick o' goin' down," Douglas conceded. "Funny that, really...Coz like, me dad dint seem to mind too much wi' Maurice..."
Growing bored with the discourse, Eric departed from the den, appearing to be a tad frustrated with the idle chit-chat and the mundanity of life in general.
"Wot if one of these ladyboys, like Maurice, gets preggers?" Will asked.
"Wotcha mean by 'preggers'?" Douglas wondered.
"You know..." Will ventured. "Wot if he has a sprog? A nipper? A snapper?"
"Don't be bloody daft," Douglas snorted. "Blokes don't 'ave sprogs!"
"They bloody well do!" Will argued. "Anybody who rubs willies together can get pregnint..."
"Course they can't!" Douglas sat bolt upright. "Yer never see blokes pregnint!"
"Yer do so too!" Will argued.
"Rubbish!" Ginger countered. "Blokes can't git pregnint - where would the babby come out?"
"Out of the arse of course, you silly arse!" Will said.
At which point, Chezza-Elizabeth entered the den unannounced.
"Alreet ladth?" she enquired. "And hoo are yooth the day?"
"Wuz all a bit borin' really 'til you showed up," said Ginger with a lascivious leer. "But now you've given me a really good idea..."
"You can gan and fuck yourthelveth if you think I'm taking my knickerth off and showing you filthy buggerth me lettith again. Oh no. Haddaway an' shite yer porvorth..."
"All right," Will said authoritatively. "It doesn't matter. We've all sin yer lettuce - hows about a nipple, or the choccy starfish?"
"Ooh yer filthy buggath!" Chezza giggled coyly. "Am not lerrin yerth put yer willieth near me thtarfish though..."
"Come on Chezza - let's have a look at it," Will pleaded.
"Aall reet then," Chezza smiled. "Burriff yers come near wer wi' them penitheth, Aa'll thcream and thcream till am reet thick!"
"Deal," Ginger said.
As Chezza was just disrobing, Eric crashed back into the den brandishing a stick.
"Look!" he shrieked, brandishing the stick. "Look at this 'ere stick wot I 'ave found!"
"Oh for fuck's sake..." Ginger groaned, unable to tear his gaze from Chezza's southbound knickerwear, hoping to catch a glimpse of 'lettuce' again...
"I found not only a stick!" Eric exalted. "But also a wasp's nest. Come, let us all grab a stick apiece and poke at the wasp's nest."
"I'm having some of that, my friend!" said Will, and Ginger, and Douglas. "Let us annoy some wasps!"
"Bathtardth!" cursed Chezza. "I shall 'ave to cover up me lettith an' me chocky thtarfish the noo - but they'll be back..."
Editor's note: No starfish were injured in the making of this production. Any similarity between this and better known literary icons is purely coincidental.