Thankee kinely. Wuz afraid thet revenooer got it.
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*pulls sawed-off shotgun out of vintage messenger bag*
I'm tired of all of you shooting at me! It's payback time, beyotches!
*accidently shoots himself in the face*
<muttering to himself>
Dang. Looks like ah'll be needin' ta find me sum mor hippehs to drive these hyar backwooders frum this hyar land.
<starts planting Phish tickets throughout the woods>
Th'onleh phish ah lahks is wuts wrapped in bakin.
Git off meh properteh, yeh goddang revenuuer hippeh scum!
Yew tellim' Hawkman!
sincho
Sho Nuff
Here here; three drinks to honor oven D. Eddings da storyteller.
*snap, drinks refilled*
<drink>
*snap everyones drink is refilled*
<drink>
Here here; three drinks to honor oven D. Eddings da storyteller.
*snap, drinks refilled*
<drink>
*snap, drinks refilled*
drink at your ease,
whew; now I am thristy;
*snap of fingers; drinks refilled that needed it*
Good ta see yeh 'Freeti!
bats fake eyelashes
Ahhh dunno. Them Eeefreets is Aye-raabs I heard.
*Sluuurp*
But the brew is ALLLLL-American.
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Ahhh dunno. Them Eeefreets is Aye-raabs I heard.
*Sluuurp*
But the brew is ALLLLL-American.
'Slong as he ain't a dang hippeh or revenuuer, he kin set on meh porch all he wants, 'specially ifn he's bringin beer.
Someone betteh turn them ribs on the barbecue er they'll be tougher than a tanned hippeh hahd.
I like zhe reebs too!
Aiiieeee! Zhese heecks, zhey are barbarous, non?
mmm...taterz...
<comes charging in from across the road>
Whew ... that was close ... poodles everywhere ...
AHHHHH!!! HILLBILLIES!!
<runs back across the road>
Sorry about that. When he starts running, there's no knowing where he'll end up next. I plane shifted him back to the Maelstrom.
But...but...I was to cook zhe frog legs weeth zhe reebs! Breeng heem back!
Ayup.
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Sorry about that. When he starts running, there's no knowing where he'll end up next. I plane shifted him back to the Maelstrom.But...but...I was to cook zhe frog legs weeth zhe reebs! Breeng heem back!
And what was Chicken Slaad going to be? He's not a frog, and he doesn't have any ribs worth talking about.
And what was Chicken Slaad going to be? He's not a frog, and he doesn't have any ribs worth talking about.
He ees a frog! I know one of zhem when I see one!
Yelp! Yelp! Hime ham beeing Frensh-presed! Badd Frencherlander!
This her nay-bore-hud is goin ta hell in a hanbaskut, ah tell yeh. Use ta be a quaht place roun' here. Jes the casionul hippeh, what gits skairt off wit a gunshot er two. Nah we gots funneh-lookin dogs, nasty-lookin slaads, and worse of all, Frenchmen.
Ah tell yeh, things ain't like they wuz.
Teh Frencherlander statted itt.
Luks liek yua peepl nede sum yelp qith un ascent.
Hyar pooch ... Ah gots a nice stick fer what yew kin chase.
<pulls out a stick of dynamite, lights the fuse and throws it>
G'won ya l'il french dawg. Go git thet thar stick.
Hay./ Joist cuss hime haff too Miss Pell evry vort doe snt mine hime ham stoopid.
Teh Posse Tmonster tate liek fife possets.
Eddied: Act yua ally itt did dent, butt day war disuhpeared. Finny.
Thet Gary
He's uh rascal
Thet puddle feller shor is aktin funneh. Mebbe he's uh hippeh.
Hime on mere hippopotamus then teh necks gie. Hime noly tacting finny case off teh finny ascent. Its ton mie folt!
Thet Gary
He's uh rascal
Hime hade thees ascent.