Mama, that’s some head spinning shit, he thought, who writes this stuff?
He looked at the book’s spine. Thornelius Lumberbottom. Some weird ethnic with too much education and not enough wood in the shed, Rupe thought, I guess that’s how you get deep alright.
He turned his gaze back to the thick, musty tome. Picked a passage at random–
Yeh, ye musteth let the stink weed dry before ye puteth it in the pipe packer to be packeth in thee bowl for ye to smoke. That’s only commonest of sense, ye dumbass, so get ye head out of ye bowels and get ye in the game. It be started soonest enough, am I right? Yeh, I be. Toketh hard.
The game must be played by ye and all. For it be the game calleth life. Maximum to the mosteth. Winner take all. No do overs. Stampeth, stampeth, no eraseth.
Rupe filled ahead a few pages–
So then, when ye need to hit ye olde time sexxe shoppe to get ye some of that sweet olde time sexxe for ye nuts must need yeh a sweet busting as ye I can tell don’t have ye nuts been busted for yeh some long time like since ye got drunk on foul mead and olde time rotgut wine and made sweet olde time sexxe to that sweet olde nag in the stable of the vicar. Yeh what a time that was. And be ye I mean me. Yeh, I be the nastieth…
Rupe wondered if they sold rotgut wine at the Jolly-J Liquor Shop.