As the intrepid explorers commenced with the series of kneeling, praying, back-slapping and skyward-gesturing that formed the initial opening procedure of the official ceremonial formalities associated with the making of first contact with a new race (phew!), from the far end of the hoarding came the sound of marching feet.
   Armitage turned to see a cloud of thick dust moving slowly along the perfectly straight yellow highway that ran parallel to the north wall. Abruptly the cloud stopped, and three heavily armoured men stepped out of the dust. As they snapped to attention - beating clenched fists to breast-platted chests - the accompanying clamour was that of a demented child attempting to playing DeVorsnack’s 5^th piano concerto on a set of ill-tuned tubular bells.
   “Oh gawd!” exclaimed Pluhgg. “It’s the bleedin' Espyqueue'ers.”
   “All kneel for the most mighty, the most glorious, the most illustrious, Gluteus Maximus,” proclaimed a shiny-helmeted soldier.
   Having been formally announced, a tall heavily tattooed, cropped-haired man dressed in a red, white and blue toga stepped forward. “You there,” he said, addressing no one in particular. “We are on our way to the Roman Baths, yet find ourselves misplaced. Tell me, what is the name of this place?”
   “I though that all roads led to Bath,” said Pluhgg, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “If it’s a bath your looking for, my advice would be to keep following this here road.”
   “F’nah-f‘nah, just follow yer nose, f’nah-f’nah,” snorted Mixie-Tapp. “I though I could smell summit funny.”
   “You there, woman, is it insults that you utter? Base insults, against the most Holy Espyqueue'er Empire!”
   “Well… its like, you said and so I said and then, like, no-but, yeah-but, no-but, yeah, but you said and so I said and -”
   Gluteus Maximus twitched irritably. “Madam, this conversation is fast becoming surreal. I demand that you -”
   “Well of course it’s SO REAL, d’you think I’m pullin' yer plonka, muvva?”
   “Madam, I can assure you that I am not your mother.”
   Mixie-Tapp sneered. “It’s like, am I bovvered. Yeah, wha’ever. I mean, ’ow is it then, right, that if you Espyqueue'ers are supposed to ’ave invented the bath, right, ’ow is it then, like, that you all stink so much?”
   “By the holiest of excrements! CENTURIAN, come hither,” ordered Gluteus Maximus.
   “Aye, O mighty Seizure?”
   “Take this woman away and have her flogged.”
   The centurion scratched his groin. “I doubt we’ll get much for her, oh rumpustuous one. The woman’s so ugly she'll not raise a pretty penny.”
   “Be that as it may, twenty lashes… I’ll accept nothing less for her.”
   “As you wish, O mighty Seizure, most high, most venerated, and most puissant Seizure. And what would you have us do with the male, O most pilious of Derrieres?”
   “I would see his buttocks whipped with wet towels,” demanded Gluteus Maximus.
   “Does not the punishment outweigh the crime, O mighty Haemorrhoid?”
   “Not punishment, centurion… entertainment. Make it so, my good man, make it so.”
   “As you wish, O mighty Excreta, most high, most venerated, and most puissant Excreta.”
   “Oh, and centurian, before you toddle off, there is another matter that troubles me.”
   “Yes, O mighty, Sphincter?”
   “Pray tell me, why is it that my eyes do spy a lesionnaire wearing a lavatory on his head instead of his shiny army-issue helmet?”
   “Pay him no heed, O mighty Faeces. The lesionnaire in question, although a famous Hollybog actor, has little more than a walk-on part in this story.”
   “Oh my gawd! Did you here that?” exclaimed Pluhgg, dashing about hysterically. “Run fer yer lives… run fer yer lives I say. He's a cameo khazi!”