No, Mr. Horse, don’t worry, I certainly don’t have a Plinko down here! What I do have is this lovely cask of wine, specifically for horses, Amontillado in fact! Exquisite vintage.
I know you’re not supposed to be in this hospital, but if you’ll just follow me down this corridor—no, that’s not blood on the floor, it’s color theory, I’ll explain it later—I can bring you to this cask of wine that is certainly NOT a plinko machine—
I'm telling you, Blorbo, I have the finest copy of my shows in the basement, please follow me
we can take the Eeby Deeby - no, no, I promise it's not going to Gay Superhell - look, Eebders Deebeorg was an outlier adn should not have been counted
Where did I get this Eeby Deeby? Well, there was this lovely Middle Eastern gentleman who was selling copper, the finest copper—
hnnnnngg I’m trying to get blorbo into my plinko but the eeby deeby I bought from the copper merchant who as it turns out was EXTREMELY disreputable (who is he, to treat me with such contempt?!) is dummy thicc, thicc enough to block the Suez Canal in fact, and the eebert of the deebert is so scrimblo bimblo it keeps alerting the horse
yoU PLINKO BLORBO?! you plinko blorbo like the HORSE?! Oh, Eeby Deeby for Glup Shitto! Eeby Deeby for Glub Shitto for 1000 YEARS
“Eeby Deeby” is, in this case, putting an orange buttered cat face-first into a trashcan
my name is blorb and when its nite and eeby deeby castiel's flight poe and wine cause discourse
i'm ever given; i plink the horse
