The Blunderboys were flicking rubber bands at us from behind our tree. And then hiding behind it as if we wouldn't know where they were. Like the Invisible Twits. Not.
I got up and went behind the tree where they were all larding about, puffing smoke from fags and hitching their trousers up. Dear God. I said to one of the speccy genks, "What is it you want?"
And he said, "Show us your nungas."
They all started snorting and saying, "Yeah, get them out for the lads."
Rosie came up behind me. And loomed over them. She is not small. She said, "OK, that's a good plan. We'll show you our nungas, but first of all we need to see your trouser snakes, to check that all is in order."
Ellen and Jools and Mabs and even woodland Jas came and ganged up in front of them.
I said, "Come on, lads, drop the old trouser snake holders."
They started backing off, holding on to their trousers.
Jools said, "Are you a bit shy? Shall we help you?"
They started walking really quickly backward as we kept walking. Then they just took off and got over the fence at the back of the park.
—from Stop in the Name of Pants! by Louise Rennison
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