Momma beed mad on me today an' she were hollerin', Georgie how come ever time I tells ya, don't not; ya gottsa go an' does it? What bees the matter with you, George? Then all in a flush; I knowed somethin'. I must of bees vallergic to don't not. Prawly I really is, acause when Momma says don't not; my feets is itchy if I ain't apposed a touch. Or my mouth bees all drippy if I ain't apposed a eat. An' even if I gotta sit still; my bum bees screamin' like I's sittin' on a ant hill. Which, that means what it bees Momma's own fault what them curtains felled down an' pretty near drownded me to deaf. I tried a tole her to don't not say don't not at me no more; but then she sayed don't not talk on yous Momma like that. Well, that maked my tongue all itchy for to keep talkin'; an' it didn't not stop atill Momma taked away my marshmallow pie. I ain't even vallergic to marshmallows.
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