Gentlemen's welcome back to the shop summer, she's coming the whooper snipper done crapped out after about half an hour of service last year, and this year won't even work. If you put the battery in her, the big chunk is of a battery. Here gives half a chooch and then we'll take this off the end, see if it's the head of her her, what they keep telling me summer's coming. I had the wood stove on last night.

Mrs was cold. Disconnect there see if she goes now. She still doesn't go something wrong in here turn now to the vorpal healing bench plus nine, it's cursed. It demands a blood sacrifice, so we'll fix it till it's chickadee says to me last night around the fire she's a reading fool mind.

Reading all these wings of fire books and so forth wants to play dungeons and dragons in the darkened wood past. The outskirts of your small village lies an ancient mausoleum of unknown prognos, used to scare ghost stories out of little kids on a fine spring eventide, a moonless knight, your friend apprentice to the local axe guild axe, make a axe. Wielder's guild squishgar squiggle dares you to go, explore the loathsome and fearful place in the distance coyotes howl it's coyotes, because wolves don't howl the same way. The spooky ones are coyotes.

As you approach the uncanny tomb, a cold sweat begins to bead on your brow. The ill-fitting chain mail, you spirited, away from your grandfather's war, chest cold against your skin, the hairs on your shoulders and back start to tingle. Maybe you should have worn an under tunic as you grope, fruitlessly and awkwardly around the base of the cenotaph. You realize your friend squiskar may have ulterior motives.

He tries to steal a kiss, you push him away, he trips and falls pal man in the darkness, his hand resting on an oddly sinking stone. The eerie hollow grinding of stone on stone. Untold years have passed a portal in the darkness, your well-practiced hands, groping in your pantaloons to find tinder and flint very quickly. You light the char cloth and, in the candle light gleaming in the distance fangs, a hobgoblin atop of dice standing guarding a treasure chest.

What do you do your elvish, compatriot swissgar without hesitation showing the pravnas of his bardic heritage? Yells, boldly parley, that's going to be fun i'll, be the dungeon master and go mad with my tiny amount of power, nothing better than bullying eight-year-old girls. But enough about the president's son easy now, i'm talking about turtle! Why? What do you know what the is going on? As you can see, i got a poke of the prod out here already broke, one of the fins off pretty chintzy fin. If you ask me, look at that speaking of a nip in the air and that is not a racist world war ii joke there's a titty bit of the green death we'll clean that off, but also the drive shaft is seized in the tumor baboo. Well not seized, but it only goes so far and it stops up so either the tube is bent or there's something jammed in there have a gander hear that looks like we picked her good and proper all right.

Well, i spin and thing this end and not end goes so it's not in the tube. This repair mission is very rapidly becoming a salvage mission. I see the problem. Unfortunately sink died of natural causes see that back bearing seized up rusty crusty.

I got her unstuck, but she's super chewy mustard got stored the wrong way up with the swizzle stick upwards and then this filled with water over the winter and then hoop a jupiter sound of a diddling thing i'll box. All this stuff up put her in a pile we'll get a bearing coming and by the time winter rolls around. We ought to have her thanks for watching keep your dick in advice.