Book 3, Modern Oeuf.
Like some bountiful philanthropist, the Great Fiery Light Bulb bestowed its gift of light upon the tiny world of Oeuf. On that tiny world, the epic struggle of a host of tiny creatures was coming to an end. To such a consciousness as burning suns possess, the monumental unimportance of it all was baffling.
Wearily the two armies trudged home. To them, it seemed that destiny itself had been forged in the heat of battle. They, creatures of little consequence, like some demented Canute, had turned the tide of history. Each had played his part, perhaps with valour, perhaps without; but each had played his part. And, as though a thousand wills controlled a single mind, that mind had been changed.
"Hooray!" cried the brave Twittian nightys, as Wibble the Stupid led them homeward. The invading Yobbian hordes had been repulsed, and the smouldering embers of civilisation could begin to glow again.
"Booo!" The invading Yobbian hoards all booed, as King Henpecked led their humiliating retreat. They had been repulsed. Their ignorance and superstition had failed to extinguish the fledgling flames of civilisation, and soon it would engulf the Bodlian Library of their blessed ignorance. They were profoundly dispirited. It was not just a defeat for them, it was a defeat at the hands of a bunch of weedy, big girl's blouses; and such a defeat was unbearable for the manly pride of the Yobbians - even the lady Yobbians.
Worse perhaps even than this, they knew that they had betrayed their old footballing gods for nothing more than fifty pieces of snot! The old faith of Fifaism had been almost forgotten, and now, thanks to Insaintly the Bunaddict and his Bunaddictine Investment Monesterys, Mammonism had them all in its invidious clutches.
"Bongo tub nugit," one muttered under his breath.
"Fungo dumpy woodle tob!" another said.
"Don't speak that stupid language," King Henpecked demanded, as he bounced along on his space-hopper, "Speak Prudish!"
"Alright," Baron Bully of the Inappropriate Threat-Response said, "Thou dost be a big useless wally-brain. Twas thou what got us all bashed and walloped and covered in gunk. Me dost think thou should'st not be king no more."
"Yea," cried all the other barons, "Thou dost be even more useless than Feckless of the Forgotten Times!" Then all the barons started fighting among themselves.
"Me be king!" one screamed.
"No, you dost got a big fat bottom!" another yelled, "Me be king cos my bottom doth be a splendid bottom."
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