Careful, you might slip with that rock.
Well… maybe I don’t think you’re worth my interesting story anymore.
Boo, you whore.
What’s your name, miss?
What’s yours, ”beauty”?
Well I am a beauty.
Sure you are, big boy; sure you are.
You’ll never guess what happened to me today.
I don’t feel like guessing so, yeah, I’ll never guess. Now, if it’s an interesting story you can go ahead and tell me. If not, nevermind.
I wasn’t talking to me sword, miss, I was talkin’ to meself. Which I guess isn’t much better, but it still be better than talking to an inanimate object.
Oh, so you call yourself beauty. Your confidence amazes me.
For the like third time, NO!
Again, I wasn’t asking: Just get me the fucking RedBull before I shove your arm down your throat.
Finchel got me feeling some type of way..
That sounds like some kind of weird-ass, Asian weapon.
Ah, there ye are, ye beauty.
Is it just a Friday thing or you talk to your sword everyday?