As their maw, Lizzie, was getting their tea ready, they had a hour to kill before she had to shout them down for it.
The time for Churchillian action had come.
"If it wisnae bad enough with yon Didnaegal bhoy n' that effeeereal enti...enta...thingy wi' the weird name geein us stick", fumed Billy, "we've goat some Jambo fud - who's probably really a Tim n'that - oan oor case n' all".
"Whit can we dae?" asked William. "We tried tae tell sum fibs aboot ra Bhoy over thon jaiket like n' everywan ripped ra pish oot o' us".
"Aye n' see when we said effeeeereal whitsit wiz Craig Whyte... ah spent twa weeks in Carstairs - polis wiz doubled up laffin'", chirped Wullie.
Billy, displaying the usual dignified stoicism associated with ra peepul (he had ultra fluorescent, fingerless gloves on - last worn by Andrew Ridgeley of Wham) had an idea pop into his head while standing underneath the very dimly lit light bulb.
"Right boys.... ra jaiket didnae work wi' that other fud wha's bein' served by a number o' grasses at the big hoose - n' see if ah git ma hauns oan them... ahm servin; 'em up tae chief Orc Bomber.
"This clown's pikcha oan Twitter huz goat 'im wearin' a Teeee-shirt right? We can nail 'im oan that - plus he' s fat n' all..."
"Erm Billy," said Wullie, "we're a bit sumo oorsels like. Whit wi' all thae fired turkey dinosaurs wi lard washed doon wi' gallons of Sunny Deeelite that oor maw keeps servin' us, if he finds oot we're larger than him...."
"Didnae worry," replied Billy. "He won't ken aboot that. Right... ahm typin' a slag-off post oan Twitter n't git all two of oor mates tae tweet it tae f***".
Five minutes elapsed and then something happened. Only it wasn't what they had in mind.
"Whit ra f***'s happenin'?" roared Billy. "He's rippin' the pish oot o' us callin' us obsessed aboot how his Teee-shirt huz us foamin' like rabid dugs... aww naw... he's also found oor Saltcoats holiday snaps n' huz goat his Jambo palz n' them lot callin us a' Jocky Wilson."
"Ah sorry Bill," said a guilty looking William. "Ah couldnae resist pittin' up yon snaps.... aww ra burdz sed we look like Tam Croooze... well... a' ra wans in ma heid like."
"Don't worry boys," piped up Wullie. "Ahve goat a sure-fire way tae git him n' he'll wish he'd nivver stairted thon blog of his."
Billy said, "go oan then...whit's yer big plan?"
"We find wan o' thum folk who follows 'im oan Twitter n' we tell lies aboot 'im so they can gie 'im a row oan it n' everywan will see. He'll be red faced - nae bother."
"Way ahead o' ye boys," cried out William. "Ahve found wan who eez chatty with. Gaunnae tell her he's intae terrorists n'that - she think eez pure scum wance she sees this pish ahm aboot tae make up aboot 'im."
William duly got typing. When he was done, they all stood back while humming the theme tune to "The Great Escape" and waited for their plot to manifest itself and shame the evil blogger who'd asked questions of the glib and shameless boaster running their three-year old fitba club.
Ten minutes later, all three were apoplectic with rage as things hadn't exactly gone to plan.
"Whit the f*** is this?" fumed Billy. "They're still tweetin' tae each other as if nuthin's happened."
"Haud oan," said William. "She's sent me a reply....och it's a different language... must be Irish coz ah cannae understaun it."
"That's no Irish", replied Wullie. "Ah think it English but it's full o' lang words like ye see in thum book thingys ye see thum oan Kelvinside huv a look at oan ra undergroond n'that."
"Cannae be guid if sumwan's usin' big words wi' us," said Billy. "That bastard skool teeechah in history kept oan deein' that tae us. Hud tae set Calvin the dug oan him... cheeky c***".
"Aww nae wonder it didnae work," groaned William. "Her trolls are crazier than us... this wan here's sez she's in MI6."
"Hey," exclaimed Billy. "Mibbes we could say that Jambo p**** is both a terrorist n' a' MI6 bhoy? F****** brilliant eh?"
"Aww c'mon Bill", replied William. "Remember when ye tried tae start ra rumour that he wiz sigining on ra buroo while running a publishin' firm under another name? We goat ra pish ripped oot o' us left, right n' bloody sentah."
Which was exactly what was happening now.
Their blogging nemesis had retweeted their falsehood-ridden bilge and many of his followers on Twitter were tweeting that they had to call an ambulance because they had bust a gut laughing.
Naturally this angered the people and they jumped about in a fit of anger - only stopping to pick up the tinfoil hats that had slipped off their heads.
"This isnae ra end o' this," roared a dignified and stoic Billy as foam poured out of his Churchillian mouth. "Naw way is that **** gaunnae beat us. Coz weeeeerrrapeepul n' we say NO SURREN..."
At which point, the Queen of the household, Lizzie shouted up the stairs: "Boys...there's a policemen here to see you. I've tried shaking hauns wi' him but it's no' working."
Cue a dignified liquidation of evidence from our brave pioneers just before PC Murdoch nabbed them all for hacking, online harassment and just being stupid eejits full stop.
Maybe the boys would realise that their plot was futile? Or would they set up a new plot yet claim it was the same plot all along?
We will not wait with bated breath.....
The author would like to point out that no Holding Company Vehicles were harmed when composing the above satire.