The Middle Child of the Secret of the Lost Gavel

Donnie peered over.

‘Yuck,’ he said. ‘That’s got to be against the rules.’

Beneath the coat was a picture of a Bratwurst sausage of surprising length, stuck at a strategic position on his costume.

‘Ewwww,’ went the crowd, as The Macintosh took a bow. He threw the picture into the audience where it was taken and later sold on the internet for substantial profit.

The Cobbler slapped Donnie’s hand, which was unfortunately gripped around the rope.

‘You’re up, my dear,’ she said with a kind smile. ‘You’ll be able to take this one on.’

Donnie was pushed into the ring and faced The Macintosh. The latter grinned nastily.

‘What about we just circle a while,’ asked Donnie, hoping his opponent would play the game.

He didn’t.

Donnie rolled beneath The Macintosh and somehow arrived on top.

‘Give him the left forearm,’ yelled Rambozo above the din of the crowd.

Donnie didn’t have time; The Macintosh rolled him off and gave him a boot-print to the face, accompanied by a thud of the canvas as the other boot added to the sound-effect.

Donnie rolled, trying to get himself out of this mess and was then whacked over the head by a well-aimed

Blutwurst, produced from one of the apparently bottomless pockets of The Macintosh’s macintosh.

The crowd jeered and boo’d.

‘Oy! Ref,’ yelled Rambozo. ‘That’s not allowed!’

Donnie was dragged unconscious by the boot from the ring as The Macintosh was given a stern talking to by the referee. The former walked over to the edge of the ring and emptied his pockets of enough meat give a family of four food-poisoning for a week.

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