The Fall of Icky Norf (an extract from the Book of Yath)

Fourteen Schlecken Sweepers full of flapping
arrive pundaciously in the mud-jax ships.

Needle-fish abounding, soaring, crickets shouting,
sea-shore jom-joms dimly understanding on the bliffy shore
kneeling, looking, reaching to the elders,
to the elder elders, then to Ratchenblurger himself.

The Jom-Jom Chief says nothing.
He hides beneath his Tooble
and franticly he doodles the story of his life.

Hushington Worms, the spear-bearing kind,
swivver and sliv upon the hinky-tinky town,
leaving their dust factories desolate.
The Worms dance, unrestrained from drinking
their three thousand bottles of madberry juice.

It is dusk. The vibrations are terrible.

The Sweepers storm the shore,
gorthablobbers tucked tightly in their hoshy-toshers.

The Sweepers begin their sweeping.
They kill all the snookers
they kill all the mips
they kill all the yips
they kill all the flower-hoppers
they kill all the creatures in goonty suits
they kill all the sander-men, who once waved their swashers
they kill all the Jabbits
they kill all the Yar-bits
they kill all the snapper-kings
they kill all the Snoobs that sell sniffing-gems
they kill all the residents of the Hall of Bath
they kill all that breathe.

The sea town falls silent.

The Sweepers move west to the Great
Mountains of Gorth-Gar-akin

Thus ends the the history of Icky Norf.