drinks are on the house

but there are no drinks, said breadroll.
of course not, said sponge, it’s early morning. they are hidden somewhere.
we would hate to share, said block of wood, shall we go?
we can’t, said breadroll, some reason. we wait for drinks shall we? and a shop.

meaning, cowboy, that is when you pay for the drinks

meaning, known what it is all about wanting to you must be, my words, marksman, said sponge.
not know i whot thy spaketh, said soldier said, quath ye thinket m’sarge?
sergeant sarge, never too sure whether being addressed properly or slagged on the sly, pretended to look out for potential primary target, his back to the private, while trying to find his line. i know son, he said eventually and turned slightly, tis bleedingly hard hardship spoken mili’tree spake tis foe sure. meaning seeking is of ours and if thous expect shouting and shanting fear not you shall as us eat with knifes and forks us use.
jolly good, said sponge.

pour me a stiff drink

poor me. poor me. poooor poor, me.
what happened? why this outburst (strong word!) of disappointment (devastation rather; self pity), this sudden outbreak of devastated morale (we mentioned devastation; repeating and rephrasing sentences without apparent reason or narrative need used to be a quality of writers paid by the word.).
sponge’s hopes of being able to present an interviewer his insights in a finely crafted conversation, headed and tailed and fullbodiedly connected in between had been spoilt by a series of events that partially have been reported already or will be — in non-chronological order — told in due course, alternating between points in time but not in this episode which is — to utterly confuse the reader — set in the here and now.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.