Darm: I would like to introduce our collective selves with a few brief words of intellectual superiority!

Bram: He means, "I'm smarter than you. Na na na naaaaa!"

Darm: Quite quite! Now, you should all see Zanthia... she's an alchemist... she could change your name!

Bram: Forgive him. He tries hard. What he means, is that we inclusively exclude fiction of dynamic proportions from our perceptive and qualitative analytic functions.

Darm: Don't confuse the dumbfounded zombies, Bram. They have yet to meet Zanthia! You'll confound their identity-ridden selves on a multi-cellular level. Where is my quill...

Bram: He's had writer's block for nearly fifteen years. And -now- he's onto something?

Darm: Damn it all. I've lost it.

Bram: Knew it! Now, old man, perhaps you will be able to decisively conclude our little debut with a few words of the old tongue?

Darm: Why certainly, comrade. Where are those spectacles- oh! Here we are. "Higgity Spiggity Spiggity Spong, Prestidigitonium!"

Note to those whom have read thus far:
If you actually understood the references made in this brief interlude, I desperately fear for your low levels of popularity. You are undoubtedly the world's largest nerd. Save for ourselves, naturally. We did write it, after all.