Flyeen' feesh

The yoomans are escapeen' to the roop sormtimes to maghe the peecneec. 

Las' time, they maghe accident y throw the peecneec down arn the terrace. Eed was wonnerful, porque the peecneec was meat weeth fish sauce. Made beeg essplocion all ober the terrace. Las plantas wor cobered een tuna. Eed was lighe bein' een forgheen' heaben. I go leeckleeckleeck. The Smooothman hab nerbous breadown. I tell heem, doan' worry, be happy, the Wooman feeds the feesh fertilizer anyway to las plantas, y thees tasdes moch beddhair. Here, I say, hab a leaf, ees delicioso. 

Cad? He say.

Yes? I say.

Sormtimes you talgh too moch.

Whadebber, I say. Escyoose me por tryeen' to maghe you feel bedder, bodderfeengers.

Oh shortop, he say.

Sure, I say. No prarblem.

Leeckleeckleeck.