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I kin verify fellers. Truly sad yet funny at same time. Ole Canedog hit the purfect 2 foot hi burner that wood have kilt anythang in its path. Kwid pro kwoe Canedog, does you still hear da kwackin of the ducks?

Dat sum bit ain’t got no respect fer critterz. I ain’t eatin sumthin ben shlt on.

I I reckon so.

Yep, if one a dem methed-up fellers comes in my dubblewide without an invite, he’s gone kitch sum dubble aught in hiz dirty face. Heez got it comin.

Ole Billy Clyde Puckett wuz throwing out his old tube tv wit da rabbit ears so I snagged it out his trash can. I rapped sum ten foil rownd da antinna an can see nbc purty good.

U rite about dat sun! Of coarse this ain’t a real hippie-friendly area. I saw a hippie in da awdience at da state union las nite - listenin ta dat stutterin idiot at da poe-diem.

U jus caint trus dem lawyas. Most of em iz crooked az a dang kwestion mark. Coarse only lawya I ever node wuz ole Bobby Lee Cook up Hiawasee way. He weren’t crooked fer az I no.

Dat dood iz crazy as a ****house rat! His boy kilt dat pretty girl in a boat reck, den da maid falls down the steps an dies, den he killz hiz sun an wife to da dog kennels. Either he’s got da wurst luck ever or he’s plum crazy.

I ain’t won ta ***** bout thangs i caint controll sun.

Armpit sniffer? Dam dat’s nasty. U no dat’s a lib. Dat bein said, cuzzin Skeet did sniff Granny Hawkins armpit on a dare whilst she wuz asleepin on da porch one time. Said it smelt like mustard greens an postum farts.