Joe looked around, sensing that something has changed!
''No. That's not right!'' he urged. ''This plonker is someone who's addicted to exclamation marks and... said bookisms.'' he surmises. ''And they can't even be consistent with the tense.''
''What are you on about now?!'' enquired Davy.
''See what I mean?!'' interpolated Joe, ''They're just like the last one, only worse!''
He stood in the middle of the wood and shouted. ''Sod off!''
All was quite very quite he crouched down his head in his hands and cringed painfully ''no thats worse'' he said ''what is'' said Davy.
''What a bleedin' disaster'' said Joe. ''We have to get out of hear and search for a proper author, Davy. Oh - and it's here, by the way, and quiet, and you need punctuation occasionally. Honestly! Amateurs!''
''Well, do you wanna go somewhere else, then?'' asked Davy, looking concerned.
Joe looked down from the tree.
''How in the name of....'' he shouted. ''Get me down, you pranet, or at least explain why I'm suddenly up a flamin' tree.'' He inspected it. At least it wasn't an oak.
Davy smoothed his long, flowing, blond locks away from his pale, fevered brow, as he sighed, heavily. Joe was now up a tree, he thought to himself. Joe had always been up the tree, in some ways. He advanced toward the trunk, inspecting the whorls and gnarls in the raddled bark, and contemplated his past. He looked down at the toned, tight muscles of his chest, and flexed his arms, admiring his bulging biceps. Oh, how beautiful he was, he thought, as he...
''Stop it, stop it, stop it! said Joe, who was now, incredibly, reclining with his back to the tree, cradling Davy's head in his lap and stroking his hair. He stood up. ''His hair is blond, right, but it's not flowing. And his brow is not fevered, and I've never heard such a load of old... twaddle... in my life. It's not that sort of story.''
Neither of them saw the truck coming...