|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| Okay, you little bastard, that's IT! You broke into my home, soiled my bed, ate my food, You make no apologies, shower me with abuse, | |
 | |  |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| ...and I swear those look like fish-droppings on my newly baked muffins. But before I RIP YOUR HEAD OFF and FEED IT TO RABID MUSK OXEN, you will tell me just one thing... | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Just how the HECK do you float in the middle of the air like that? | |
| | |
|
 |
| | |
| A talking, air-breathing fish picks the lock on the door and that's all you can think of to ask? | |
| | |
|
|
|
