I love my mammy. Oh, yessiree, I love my mammy!
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I had no problems of the sort with the degenerate hillbilly ogres. Yew got a purty mouth, boy.
I ain't sorry fer nuthin'!
Aww, come-awns! We jes' wanna play wich'yas! Now, lemme hear ya squeal like a pig, boy.
"Yew gotta purty mouth. boy. Squeal lahk a pig."? Hey, that's my line! But ain't yew a purty piggy!
...the players keep threatening to cornhole captives. Lemme hear ya squeal like a pig, boy!
I love my momma!
I don't see a seduction of an ogre or aboleth going that well...You don<t NEED to seduce ogres. Yew got a purty mouth, boy.
(And if you're going to lean toward the Victorian definitions of words over the modern definiiton, I suggest you avoid telling someone "I was having a conversation with my mother yesterday....") I do love my momma!
"Yew got a purty mouth, boy. Lemme hear ya squeal like a pig!" |