Vindico has been harassed by the local rat boy fraternity:
Yesterday I encountered 6 or 7 youths, aged about 13 or 14, as I made my out of a car park. You know the kind - probably have kids older than themselves, and a box full of ASBOs. As they looked at me and shouted "how's it hangin'? to the left? to the right? is it sweaty? tight?", I was tempted to respond "to the left, very sweaty and very tight, want a look?"The rat kids in the Sussex countryside are obviously a cut above the type we have here in South London. Ours have no concept of rhyming or scansion. Now if they had unnerved him using iambic pentameters I would have been really impressed. As for his comeback, such things are better pondered and then played back ad-infinitum in the comfort of one's own head, without risk of knife attack or an even wittier rejoinder. Realtime quips should be left to the Fonz.
Of course, Tobias knows how to deal with their kind:
The second course of action, which I employed recently when I discovered some particularly rat-faced specimens sniffing around the back of my house, is to shout obscenity-laden abuse whilst brandishing a metal chair leg. If you take the second course of action you must give the impression that you are mentally unstable, care not for your personal safety and that you are capable of unprovoked acts of extreme and random violence. You have to unleash without reticence: the more spittle, the more violent the threats and the more unhinged the profanity, the better. Just conjure the vilest words in your vocabulary and string them together like a jazz-poet with Tourettes.
