|
|
Yon magnificent barrel!
How hath thine been brushed
over by others so oft? |
|
| |
|
|
Even after this night, involving
many a mugs of wonderfully potent ale,
I doth find ye floating about,
ripe for the picking, hail! |
|
| |
|
|
Hail! Uncouth art those who
doth not recognize the value
in peanut-laden logs of-- |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
Heathens! This doth not
be a barrel of chocolate! |
|
| |
|
|
Mine tactics doth
be unorthodox.
Nevertheless, he be in yon latrine. Payeth up. |
Hail! Yon shit! It
doth stain mine
noble armor and-- (squish)
AH, NO! |
Son of a bitch.
Your bastardry
has found me at
a loss for words. |
|
|
|
|
