Boss, the vehicle management plan has arrived from the Exec...after a wait of three and a half years.

It's about to be amended again of course, because Wyre Forest are complaining...

...that there's not enough pictures.

So we've had to find another wall to bang our heads against and nobody can agree who'll build it.

Newport can build the wall. When do we get the ISU?

Well, Boss...[HESITATION]...shit...

Shit happened and Wyre Forest are keeping the ISU as they threatened to mutiny and keel haul the Exec from junction 6 southbound.

Any crew who haven't completed the five miler of death, please leave before D4H reminds you.

WHAT THE SWARFEGA LUBED FUCK?!

Those Brummie chimps only deploy the fucking thing to the rowing club twice a year!

Half the time we end up translating what's said on the comms and it's still like listening to Goofy getting a handjob from an Oompah Loompah.

Which pillock made that call?

How many times have we dragged that Ford Ferry to the Afterlife up the Mordorway to go assist those ungrateful bastards?

Only to find out we're just there to watch the real bloody heroes rock out all their funeral bucket sponsored kit?

Boss, we cannot compete with a quad mounted kayak launcher in Battenberg.

It's fucking mental mate! Stark fucking mental!

Boss, calm the fuck down.

I would if the Exec had approved the purchase order for more crayons instead of boats.

This isn't Sharkness... Bunch of smartarses with a small army of crew at their disposal for those fucking bucket collections and getting the local Women's Insitute horny for lifeboats once again.

All we wanted was a money magnet to match other teams...

...just something that was less likely to kill us on the drive there and the ability to open a door without being hit by a kit avalanche.

Do they want us to deploy on e-scooters with 16 on tow?

My lumbar can't take another land rovercoaster.

I'm on so much co-codamol I've travelled farther into space than that Amazon wanker.

It's bollocks.

It's bad enough that we've got crew selling themselves on the High Street without ripping away their prospects of getting control of the oversized playstation those bastards are clinging to.

As for the landies, it would be nice to drive something with a safety rating from this century.

And that doesn't handle like a drunk priest.

With air conditioning, my god, air conditioning!

My crack is wetter than an otter's pocket after a run to fucking Worcester...

Don't cry - he's not fucking Worcester.

I don't get it.

It's like we're the Hobbits between Wyre Forest's incoherent Orks and Beachley's emasculated Elves.

...grips my shit.

The pricks can do one.

Tell the crew to start panic buying fuel whenever we deploy North or South and drain all the local gas stations.

And all the bog roll.