How hard could it be? Bus trip for a bunch of old age pensioners, take them round the bargain outlets. Lunch at a Hotel. Then he realised. "OhMyGod!!! they all look like Nanny Ogg." -- KnitNan
[AN: Sir Pterry (GNU) always said that multiple exclamation points were a sign of a decaying mind]
Everyone epitomises little old ladies as the most fragile and in need of protection. Everyone, of course, is sorely mistaken. Think on this: there is a reason why they live that long. Little old ladies are as tough as flash-fried hobnails. More cunning than a sackful of mongooses. And have filthier minds than the entirety of the porn industry's scriptwriting cadre. And possibly the entirety of hormone-fuelled teenage fanfiction writers too.
They looked like a pack of sweet little old grandmas. Kevin almost put his hand out for the mysterious strawberry-mimic wrapping sweets that little old ladies almost always had in their purses and nobody ever seemed to sell. Those, or a Werther's Original[1]. Within minutes of starting the bus, Kevin would learn that looks weren't everything.
Five minutes onto the road, they were all singing The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered at All, followed by a rousing rendition of Charlotte the Harlot and a song that Kevin had never heard before and began praying would never hear again, because his ears were ready to spontaneously incinerate themselves from pure self-preservation.
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