Wet Vengeance

Once upon a time, in a magical landfill site in Woolpit, several species of small, furry, Discworld fans gathered together in a field and grooved together with a Pterry.
The Discworld fans had been doing this for a few years previously, and as the events grew, so did certain 'traditions'. One of these, was the 'Fun With Water Pistols', which as time went by, turned into 'Fun With Super Soakers', the bigger and more powerful the Super Soaker, the better.
Occasional battles would rage, especially after a long hot day, where the only shelter from the blazing sun was the cool of the beer tent, which was for the rest of the year, a barn atop a small hill, where the piggies lived.
There was only one rule pertaining to the battles; if you were holding a water pistol or super soaker, you were a target, and if caught in possession you were fair game for an attack. Many was the time when someone would say 'Could you hold this for a minute, please?' and on passing the weapon over, a gang of heavily armed folk would squirt the unsuspecting holder to a soggy mess.
To attack an unarmed person, was strictly verboten however, and this rule was held as sacrosanct by all.
One fine Saturday had been particularly hot, and the twilight found many fans thirsty, which led to them deciding to cool down in the piggery beer tent.
I decided to have a wash, then put on my bestest, smartest top, clean jeans and high(ish) heels, before trundling up the hill to join them.
I left my tent and started to amble up. I had to pass a few other campers, some of which were dwelling in an army truck, with marquee accessories. As I passed their encampment, one of their group, which, btw was loud, raucous and drunken, decided to attack me with his super soaker.
Thanks to my high(ish) heels, I could not run, and despite my politely asking screaming at him to fu*k off and stop squirting me, I got soaked.
I was not a happy bunny.
I was in fact, an extremely pi**ed of bunny, and wet to boot.
I decided that vengeance would be mine...

Angry and dripping, I made my way up the hill to the beer tent. Outside was a group of folk enjoying a pint and the evening breeze, including one Mr. Pratchett, who looked bemused by my appearance. I explained what had happened, and asked if anyone would care to help me avenge my attack, to which they gestured to the drunken rabble in the piggery.
Now what could be better than a drunken rabble to help sort out a tosser, eh?
I entered the barn, and hammered on a table for silence.
When I had every body's attention, I once more explained the attack, and asked for support for vengeance.
As one, the crowd roared "Yes!" and grabbing their drinks, they followed me outside.
I stood on the small wall that overlooked the encampment, and pointed out the miscreant with a cry of "That's the wan*er, there! Get him!"
With a roar, my minions charged down the bank. The law-breaker saw them and tried to run, but he was too slow, and the drunken rabble too determined, and after a few seconds they caught him.
To my absolute delight, they dragged him over to an old water tank which had left out for other animals to drink from, but as it hadn't been used in some time, then only contained stagnant water. Lovely, dark green, odious water, which reeked to the heavens after being left in the hot sun for most of the summer.
Without ceremony, they took hold of him, turned him upside-down, and dunked him in the tank. Then they dunked him again.
And once more for luck.
The biggest of the rabble then gave him a short lecture on how that sort of thing would happen again if he ever soaked an unarmed person again, and asked if the message had got through to his brain, to which the now stinking miscreant nodded that he had indeed understood.
I cheered, applauded, and hugged my heroes as they came back to the piggery, and we spent the rest of the night carousing, and celebrating, with mucho quaffing of ale.
Happy times indeedy, oh yes.

I found out afterwards, that Terry said it was the highlight of his evening. Hurrah.