“... I tell you men, them's Crinkum-crankum whales.” ¶ “And what is them?” said a sailor. ¶ “Why, them is whales that can't be cotched.”

We'll hauld our court mid the roaring lins, And daff in the lashan' tide

Prof. Jain would mix all his food into one glob at lunch so as to be more yogically detached from pleasure but I couldn't get to that point.

`Sprung!' cried Jeff Basin, the local dubbo. 'Oh, der,' moaned Boardie sarcastically.