Flonking

The flonker stands at the centre of a serious snurd of girts. The jobanowl yells, “Here y’go t’gither!”, the girt links hands and begins dancing in a circle. The flonker dips his dwile-topped driveller into a bucket of beer, circles on the spot in the opposite direction, takes careful aim and flonks his dwile at one of the girters. He scores a direct wanton and takes all three points, unlike the flonker before him who missed completely, resulting in a swadge. That fellow isn’t doing too well now, having had to drink the contents of an ale-filled gazunder while the non-girting girters intoned the time-honoured chant, “pot, pot, pot” and quickly passed the dwile the length of their line.