Flapjack, flap. A Quick Digest of Various Dips and Dives.

Fig Roll.
George Felps threw a three, flapped his arms
(a bit) then awkwardly pulled on the supplied snorkel
and provided mask.

Chocolate Finger.
Alice Hands threw a six and a nine then picked up the card
that instructed her to shove a strawberry mivvy
through the nearest convenient key hole.

Marshmallow Delight.
Morty Fender threw a one and then attempted to levitate.
He rose sixteen inches from the floor before falling back again
with a heavy clump onto the carpet.

Fruity Hobnob.
The referee, stood behind a wicker fence in the corner,
dressed as a traffic warden and wearing a cheap imitation
chandelier as a hat,

threw a fit,
blew a whistle,
waved a flag,

declared the whole evening null and void, concluding
it with

A short audio tape. Of dog bark. Of distant cry laugh.
With train hoot. And lonely sea gull call. And all
slowly fading. Into sad evening ending.

Custard Creams.
The three friends had been playing this game for fifteen
years, but still nobody knew the rules.