WAR'S MY BORSCHT?

My borscht.

Where is it?

Man, I'm drunk.

But I need my borsch-- OH, FUNKING ITALICS, WON'T LET ME EMPHASIZE MY 'NEED'!? HUH!? YOU WANNA GO!? HUH!?!

Okay, calm down. Your borscht is obviously safe.

Stop thinking about your borscht and drink the mouthwash.

BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT

..The beefy... and cabbagey... and Russian. Oh god, yum.

Give me my borscht now or I'll borscht your borscht.

Alright... I probably put my borscht in my pocket.

My borscht likes my pocket.

No.. it's not in there.

He must have stolen it. That lime-pied bananaface.

I'm gonna get him.

Anti-clothes ray, banana..

And here we go. Stepping outside.

What the? Why is my hot tub full of borscht?

BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT

Ow, damnit. No, I don't want to fall off the railing and split open fingers! No, not the splinters. ANything but the various knives cutting me to ribbons left on my garden and the slamming into a tree and being eaten by a dog and then being puked into my tub of borsch--

BORSCHT BORSCHT BORSCHT YAY BORSCHT YUMMY YUMMY HAPPY FUNNY