Ever sometime Momma catches the PMS, what prawly means Pickin' on My Son; and she gots it very bad today. She called me for to come here, and when I comed here she sayed, don't not bugger me today, George, I gots the PMS. Which, I thunk that already. Then she sayed, why is you lookin' on me like that? Stop it! Then she sayed, git that face offa yous face, young man. Then she sayed, what? Is yous ears glued on or somethin'? I wishes they was glued on acause I would tug them ears offa my head and bury 'em atill Momma bees cured from her PMS disease. I's just gonna hide under the bed all day.