“Oh, you don’t wanna go to Bugarup,” said Remorse. “Nothing in Bugarup but a bunch of wowsers and pooftahs.” “’s okay, I like parrots,” mumbled Rincewind, who was just hoping that they would let him go so that he could hold on to the ground again. “Er…what’s Ecksian for going mad with terrified fatigue and collapsing in a boneless heap?” The men looked at one another. “Isn’t that ‘snagged as a wombat’s tonker’?” “No, no, no, that’s when you chuck a twister, isn’t it?” said Clancy. “What? Strewth, no. Chucking a twister’s when…when you…yeah, it’s when you…yeah, it’s when your nose…Hang on, that’s ‘bend a smartie’…” “Er—” said Rincewind, clutching his head. “What? ‘Bend a smartie’ is when your ears get blocked underwater.” Clancy looked uncertain, and then seemed to reach a decision. “Yeah, that’s right!” “Nah, that’s ‘gonging like a possum’s armpit,’ mate.” “Excuse me—” said Rincewind. “That ain’t right. ‘Gonging like a possum’s armpit’ is when you crack a crusty. When your ears are stuffed like a Mudjee’s kettle after a week of Fridays, that’s ‘stuck up like Morgan’s mule.’” “No, you’re referrin’ to ‘happier than Morgan’s mule in a choccy patch’—” “You mean ‘as fast as Morgan’s mule after it ate Ma’s crow pie.’” “How fast was that? Exactly?” said Rincewind. They all stared at him. “Faster’n a eel in a snake pit, mate!” said Clancy. “Don’t you understand plain language?”