Theah's somethin' about bein' back in New Yawk that makes me tawk like this, mainly aftah a coupla drinks. It's gotta be my motha, who has a majah New Yawk accent; but it's also maybe just somethin' in the aiyah, like in the atmospheah?
Whaddya gonna do? I dunno.
What I DO know is that 2016 can go fuck itself. Seriously. Sit and spin, 2016. Bowie, Phife, Prince, Leonahd Cohen, and now Geowage Michael!? None of 'em could stand to see Trump become president. That's gotta be it. They all sawr it comin,' and they were all like, no thanks, I'm outta heah!
The guy who made "faith" a household word decided to Brexit the whole fuckin' planet before waiting to see what 2017 has planned fuh us! Ya can't help but wondah if they awl know somethin' we don't.
2016, there's still a week left and I'm scayahad about what the fuck you've got up yah sleeve fuh the next few days.
The only way you redeem yahself now is to make Trump and Putin quit politics to marry each othah, with Bashar al-Assad officiating. Othawise, don't even tawk to me, 2016. Just shut yah mouth.
AH! Ah! UH UNH.
Did I stuttah? I SAID Do. Not. Fuckin' TAWK to me!