The engastrimyth awakened from his slumber to the sound of some far off kerfuffle. His given name was Jon Boucher, but he was yclept the Lexiphanic Gaberlunzie of Berlitz, given his penchant to engage in a number of rousing quodlibets in the course of his performance. This evening, he had come home after a rather annoying encounter with the chiliastic blatherskite who always patronized the street corner with his sandwich boards constantly declaring doom and the impending demise of humanity. As he sat awake quietly in his bedchamber, he adjudged the sound to be simply the acronychal malemaroking of sailors who had just pulled into port. Somewhat discombobulated, he decided to walk by the cottage of his xenoglossic friend and regale these drunken sailors with a perverb or two to chastise them about their errant behaviour.

As he walked on past the vaccary, he passed the home of another friend and decided to bring him along on this quest. After all, one could use a few extra fists when dealing with ichtyphagous sailors who've had too much to drink, and were now cavorting around the docks like the whilom rantipoles and gaberlunzies that patronized the docks when the longshoremen weren't there to drive them out. The damage they brought about everytime they pulled into port obnubilated the fact that they brought so much money to this small village.

As he approached the friend's house, he could hear his friend's mistress scutching in the sewing room. He called on his ultracrepidarian companion to join him to teach these drunken sailors a lesson they would forget. The last time they had come around, though, his friend had tergiversated when asked about his willingness to assist in throwing these bums back to the sea, and had then engaged in a lengthy conversation about 256 being the zenzizenzizenzic property of two, and other matters that had caused him to all but give up. His friend was a pain in the ass, to be sure, but he was a know it all who could root a nihilartikel out of every dictionary ever written and who could bring with him a conga line of suckholes, men who partied like a hirocervus, and were willing to bust the teeth of every jackanapes they encountered.

His friend demurred at first. "Jon, it's floccinaucinihilipilification at its finest", he insisted, "These men are reckless animals and as soon as you throw them out, they'll be back". But the thought of the cold pint and the warm women that would await him after their adventure ultimately coaxed him to join in the battle. They soon found their companion who could speak the barbaric ramblings of these sailors from Greenland and walked towards the docks, not a little intoxicated by the prospect of getting their heads knocked about.