Beef biscuits are needed, and quick. The gravy is starting to melt, and we all know how the cuckoo crows downtown when the aboriginally started with a left-handed pitcher. How do you say, we are all going to burn in everlasting marshmellows in the language of the Old Ones? See, the maintenance man forgot his key card for the generator room, and I have to have all three to progress to the next level. Damn dirty donkeys, always braying to the forbidden beat.