Meanwhile, down at PRO Tigers HQ, in Neil Balme's office on the second floor, Balmey sits behind his desk chewing furiously on a pencil.
Neil Balm (NB): Aaaarrrggghh! I can't *smile* concentrate.
*NB hammers on the intercom button on his desk phone*
NB: Simon? Simon? Simon!!!!!!
Intercon: Murfle wab?
NB: Go get me a six pack of vanilla slices. Now!
Intercom: Fargle moorf lonoble stuuurp craas.... Blorgle worp.
NB: I don't care what the dietician said. Get me my vanilla slices!
Intercom: Buffle ninge snorkl
NB: You want me to come out there and explain in person?
Intercom: Norp!
NB: Good!
*silence as Balmey continues to chew on his pencil*
*suddenly there is a the sound of furniture being moved around outside the office with a few bangs and bumps on the office door*
NB: What the *smile*?
*NB pushes the intercom button on his desk phone again*
NB: Simon? Simon? What is going on out there!!!!!!
Intercon: Werfle vurp shoonegab kale salad
NB: That's it - I'm coming out and if I see a hint of kale salad and a distinct lack of vanilla slices there will be consequences!!!
Intercom: Esac vuurp snoogle blart... Famble groink
NB: You bastards are gonna cop it
*Balmey stands up and marches over to his office door and pushes on it*
*the door opens about 15 centimeters and is stopped by something on the other side*
*Balmey squints through the gap and he see filing cabinets and a large desk blocking his door from opening*
*behind the pile of furniture he can see his assistant, Simon, holding a plastic bowl covered with e see-through plastic lid in one hand, and a bamboo fork and napkin in the other*
NB: Is that a Kale salad my boy?
Simon: *nervously* Yes sir! Your dietician said you couldn't have vanilla slices any more and you had to eat heathy snacks instead.
NB: I'm gonna start ripping arms off people, Simon.
Simon: *takes deep breath and gathers his courage* I think that might be against our anti-bullying policy, Mr Balme.
NB: *smile* anti-bullying policy. I miss the old days where you could rip off someone's arm and then use it to beat the possums in the rafters to death.
Simon: *nervously extends his hands with the salad and fork, plus napkin toward Balmey* Your salad, sir?
NB: *grabs the salad, fork and napkin and pulls the door closed and stomps back to his desk where he sits down and rips the cover off the bowl*
NB: *Stares malevolently at the green abomination in front of him and stabs it with the fork*
NB: *Lifts up the green kale and takes a bite then looks back in the bowl*
At the base of the bowl is a square package wrapped in grease proof paper.
NB: *Lifts the square package out and unwraps it to reveal a single vanilla slice*
*NB pushes the intercom button on his desk phone a third time*
NB: Simon?
Intercon: Dingle wop?
NB: Good lad! Good lad!
Intercom: Yiffle womple, mirf!