Glimflashy, he was, saying we was all dicked in the nob or else we should be bummed, laced up in darbies, and tossed in the bilboes. Oh, gloomy hour—what a brangle.

I bought a set of nesting mixing bowls for my mother.

'Effectively accelerates your own healing'... yeah, I should've seen this coming. So I'm not burnt out?! I can use my magic again?! Um, I think so, but...

Occasionally some young men who have no cattle of their own will take part in these expeditions, or they will give their services by the year to receive a pro rata of all the maverick cattle that may be found. [Quoted from The Texas New Yorker, pages 110–111.]