Grok grok. Th’ stoopid ol’ bag wuz babblin’ aroun’ yest’rday abou’ blahggin’ abou’ snow. grok grok. I thought she’d fin’ly flipped ‘er ol’ lid but now I’m ou’ hoppin’ ‘n’ sproingin’ aroun’ in that beeyootyful white stuff. grok grok. But th’ ol’ witch ain’t in any shape t’ blahg abou’ anythin’. She’s sleepin’ it off in my laundry basket. grok grok. So I’ll jus’ hafta blahg it m’self. grokgrokfrokGROK!. I jus’ bet those Callyforny girls ‘r’ wishin’ they coul’ be back ‘ere in th’ Grea’ White North! ‘n’ all you guys over in ol’ St. Louie too. Squee-grok. grook grokgrokGROK! Sproing Sproing! Click th’ pitchers t’ make ’em bigger. grokgROKFRGOK!