Words of the Constant
I'd prefer a pocketwatch on a chain.
My suits don't deserve to be defaced with these tacky atrocities.
No! NOO!
All my ambitions go up in smoke.
Perhaps I might reign again... as the king of fishing!
Weight: Caught by:
Weight: Caught by: Enjoy your moment while it lasts...
Weight: Caught by: Bow down before your fishing master!
Weight: Caught by: Impressive, isn't it?
...And now it's on fire.
Reduced to dust.
Do we not have infinitely more pressing things to do?
Weight: Harvested on day: A moderately impressive display
Weight: Harvested on day: I suppose it's an accomplishment.
The bar has been set low, I see.
It's more of a fall vest.
It's so hard to look fashionable in the winter.
At least the mucus burned off.
Full of summer mucus.
The trunk thickens in the winter to hold more mucus.
Tumble on, weed.
I despise getting my hands dirty.
A stone floor.
Turf.
Really, Higgsbury?
That's a quality, high-pile carpet sample!
What was wrong with my carpet?
Turf.
That's my natural habitat.
Some quality stonework.
A bit gaudy, but it certainly makes an impression.
Turf.
Turf.
Dusty.
It's warm, but quells flame.
Smells like mud.
Turf.
Turf.
Turf.
Turf.
Scratchy.
It's dripping all over.
Turf.
It doesn't belong here.
A stone floor.
A stone floor.
A stone floor.
Turf.
Turf.
At least this one is useful.