"Jesus Jessup H. Norris!" cried Fred "Where did these bloody jeans come
from?" "I'll tell ya where," said a voice. Fred looked up, he was no longer in the cave he was standing behind an old cabin on a hillside. The voice belonged to an old grizzly looking man holding a shotgun aimed at Fred's genitals. "I'll tell ya where you got dem damn flaggit pants fram! You took 'em off my consplabbit washin' line you good fer nuffink sum' bitch!" he said in a outrageously over the top hick accent. "Oh," said Fred. "Now giv'em back here, you ramstabble splaggen dabber matherfackle!," the old bastard cried shooting his gun in Fred's direction. "I'd happily give them back," Fred said as he forced a smile "Just don't shoot at me and everything will be alright," "Gobben stabble stoopid son of a stum danker swin bindler!" cried the man taking another shot. "See now I just can't understand you at all," said Fred jumping aside, "But I can only take the pants off if you-" "Shin diggen flippity wip wap, honkey tonkey bin shrabble dabble aichen slim picken wobben flabben shrim shtim'n cack'n blabben!" cried the old man lifting his gun once more. "Screw this!" remarked Fred loudly as ran off with the jeans still clutching his nethers. "Where's dat boy goin?" asked the old grizzly man "I wash gonna invite 'im in fer dinna,"
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4/11/2004 8:58:52 AM
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