SCREW THE YOO!
You and your filthy mustache! A curse on your hick-laden, hoe-wieldin’ family. All I’m trying to get is friggin’ cabbages and you go around, “HUR HUR HUR! Gotta use the hoe! Gotta fill up the holes! Can’t donate cabbage to the moles!” What’s it to you? Eight cabbages! Don’t you get a government pension or something! I’ve got eight mouths to feed there and all you’ve got is your stupid hairy mouth to gorge on.
Molekind will know you as their worst enemy, so help me, Mole God!
I’m gonna get those eight cabbages in the holes one day and you’re going to go down! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! To hell! Where you’ll roast like a turkey, while evil turd demons turn you around on a spit and say, “Fill the holes! Fill the holes! With barbecue sauce!”
I’m going to get you, you miserable greedy piece of eight-bit, puke green mustachoied farmer slime!