Leary kissed each of the stunned twins on the cheek and dragged Trotman towards the door, “We, my friend, are out of here.”

A group of Catalunyans with bad haircuts began to gather on the other side of the bar.

Trotman looked back and pointed at the bloodied limbo maestro sprawled on the floor, “These slimy dogs don’t pay no respect to the laws of engagement Lear. That Maxi character was cutting my grass.”

Loud shouts of Catalan began to build in the bar as the pair hurried out into the fresh night of Barcelona’s latin quarter.

“That was his sister, you moron!”

Trotman looked puzzled for a moment before adding, “Well, I won’t stand for that sick incest crap either.”

Leary rolled his eyes as thoughts of Spanish twins and the laws of friction began slipping away, “Trotman, you are, without a doubt, a massive pain in my arse.”