Please sit down. Here. Have some homemade cumin tea. That should calm you and steady your calloused workman hands!
I worry about you, Derrick. You work too hard. You never rest! You never rest your body, even when your mind is in repose!
Stop it! Stop doing supplementary push-ups whilst I speak to you!
It's infuriating!
I don't know why you insist on working your fingers to the bone, when all those other idiots and ethnics (excuse my language) do nothing but lollygag and lean against the truck all day under the hot sun singing incantations from their native lands, while you slave away separating beets by hand and painting the undersides of public bridges all by your lonesome!
Are you even aware that your foreman, Erskine, makes illicit drug deals on the side, getting rich off hashish and claiming credit for YOUR hard work!
YES, Erskine is a handsome, dashing man! But I fail to see how that is relevant right now!
I'm sorry, Derrick! But you must face the truth!
I know you don't like for me to go on so, and I know it's not lady-like of me, but ... things have gotten desperate! You don't stand up for yourself! You're being made a fool of! You're nothing but a goat in monkey's clothing!
Are you a robot? A pack mule? An automaton? Have you no eyes? See ye not what's in front of ye?
I worry about you. I do. You have no more sense than a piece of driftwood with a rusty nail sticking out of it!
And you've grown so ugly!
And your smell! Sometimes you come home and I think a wet alley dog has come back to life and crawled from his shallow cesspool of a grave after a maggoty fortnight!
You stink so! I can barely stand it!
Out! Go sleep in the barn with the pigs and mules ye love so, you horse-faced wood-brained dimwit!
I'll have no more truck wi' ye!
