Hey bies, how's she goin'?
First off, I wanna say some things about native Newfies such as myself. You mainlanders treats us worse than the flies that buzz around a friggin' harse's arse! For the love of god bies, we deserve at least to be compared to good god-fearin' outhouse flies! I mean come on, that's just common decency! I mean hell, lord knows that we musta earned that reputation from somewheres, but who could blame us? I mean, look at the wimen we got walkin' around the CCK these days, what with their fancy three-piece suits and friggin' shoulder pads up the ying-yang. Who the hell do they think they are!? I mean, if my pappy' didn't teach me nuttin, it's that a womin's place is directly on top of a man, and failin' that, then in the kitchen doin' whatever the hell they do in there. But these wimen, I tells ya, they go struttin' around like they own the place. I mean, if they was any more masculine, they'd be pissin' standing up for god's sake! And I'm not sure that all they're shavin' is their legs if ya know what I mean!
Okay, now maybe I was goin' too far with that last comment, maybe some of those wimen still have their titties, and maybe some of 'em still enjoy layin' down with a member of the opposite sex whenever the urge hits 'em, but I'm tellin' you bies, whether you live in the frozen northern tundra or the sweltering southern rainforests, there aint nothing like the sweet, sweet nectar that I affectionately call "The drink". Oh lordy, don't get me started on the drink. It's only been 6, 8, carry the two... 13 minutes since I last brought to my lips the beautiful drink of drinks, and god damn it if I don't want another one right now... But alas, I promised the good Doctor that I'd try to cut down on the stuff -- he says it's burnin' a hole straight through my friggin' rec-tum! My rec-tum of all places! Where the hell is that? Somewhere near yer arse I s'pose. But around here the word of Dr. Ken is like the word of the Lord himself; so how's about keeping this our little secret, okay?
...Yeah, so I says "stick it up yer arsehole, ya old bag", an' she says "That's no way to talk to a Supreme Court Justice", and if I didn't find out nuthin' that day, was that bein' hammered doesn't stand up as defence in any friggin' court. So how in the friggin' hell am I s'posed to get my pickup out'a the arse end that minivan? Damned if they didn't make it look like the whole thing was my fault. And who'd'ya think was drivin' that other piece-a-shit? Who the hell d'ya think -- a womin. That chick probly laffin' her way to the bank right now, well, soon as she gets outa de intensive care anyways.
Oh, but it's calling me again, the sweet siren song of the drink. It's saying "Come on Dickie, suck on my spout. Suck me Dickie, I know you want to. Just a little suck, it won't hurt nobody." Oh bies, the drink, the drink's too strong for me, I don't think I can resist it this time... Oh sweet mother, give it to Dickie...
-- Five minutes later
...anif hesnot thh... five dollars? Gedoutahere. I, oh... nevrin me goddamned life'v, uh, whatsat? Holy tunder'in! Wudja lookit tha', itsa new one'ufdose shiny things... What're dey callin' dem? That's tha las' time...
-- It just continues like this, so I figured I'd end it here
- CCK Registrar