(Note: Lenny Swears ran on twitter from January to August 2013. I took some time off of the project as I finished Mother of the Moonrat and I realized that as much fun as I was having with it, Lenny didn’t have enough followers to keep it up. Twitter is a challenging format to use and I wouldn’t mind starting it back up in the future, but for now I have put it on the backburner. Leave a comment below if you would like Lenny Swears to return. If he gets enough followers on Twitter I just might do it. THC)
A sampling of statements from the diary of Lenui Firegobbler: Master Weaponsmith, Campside Cooky, Swinger of Hammers, Connoisseur of Curses, and lover of fine muscular women.
To see the daily tweets follow @lennyswears on twitter. Or go here and check it out:
Drug all the dag-blamed moonrat bodies out away from town and burned ‘em in a big dag-gum pile. Then the gall-durn wind changed!
Disgustin’ smell blew right back into town. Smelled like a thousand gall-durn corpse farts ganged up on a bad case of stank foot!
Did you know that moonrat eyes pop in the fire? Makes a sound like a gall-durn baby cry. Shiverin’ just thinkin’ bout it!
Kharl’s funeral was a dag-gum mess. Now dwarves ain’t elves, dag-nab it, but we live a gall-durn long time and we don’t like to see youg-uns die.
T’weren’t right. Folks was cryin’. Folks was dag-blamed mad. An academy patrol came by wantin’ to know what dag-gum happened.
When we done told ‘em what happened, they told us they was happy to clear the gall-durn moonrats outta’ the hills if’n we’d help.
‘Course we friggin’ obliged! The whole gall-durn town armed up’n we marched out with the patrol on a dag-burned moonrat hunt!
To this day, I don’t friggin’ know what them moonrats was doin’ so far away from the Tinny Woods. It made fer a dern big battle, though.
Moonrats hate the light. Hurt’s their dag-blamed eyes, I think. Durin’ the day, they hide in any bit of shade they can find.
There must’a been hunnerds of them blasted things in the hills. Seemed like they was hidin’ under every gall-durn rock.
It was the first time I done saw a full troop of Battle Academy boys in action, and let me tell you, they weren’t no hoop-skirtin’ Hog-farmers.
They was border patrol veterans and they weeded them gall-durn rats out of the hills like they was barn-cats catchin’ mice.
Took just two days to clear ‘em out. Then we loaded up carts full of dag-burned moonrat corpses and hauled ‘em off to the Tinny Woods.
I was with the boys haulin’ the gall-durn ‘rats back to the woods and lemme tell you. They stank like a crate of rotten eggs left in the sun.
There’s somethin’ dag-gum wrong with they way them things rot so fast. When we got to the edge of the woods, it was gettin’ close to night.
We couldn’t unload the durn things fast enough. Glowin eyes started apearin’ in the trees and then they started a moanin’.
We finally left the last dag-blamed cart and high-tailed it out of there. Gall-durn turd-farmers jumped out of them trees and started eatin’.
Them moonrats was eatin’ the dead moonrats like crazy, makin’ nasty noises. Dag-blasted glowin’ eyes ever’where.
Last thing I saw of ‘em was their piss-yeller eyes swarmin’ all over the friggin’ place like a gall-durn carnival show.
Can’t ever see a moonrat without thinkin’ of that dag-blamed day. My nose wrinkles up and I’cn smell them things a-burnin’.
Any time I visit Wobble, I drop by and drink a bottle of pepperbean wine with Broose. He’s the dag-gum Mayor now.
Some idjit made him an eyepatch with an eye painted on it. It’s unnervin’. Makes him look like a durn barn owl.
Bettie’s makin’ me make her a dag-gum quiver outta tree-bark and leather. Dag-burned woman knows I’m a metal man.
She’cn do things with leather and wood and fiber that’d make any smith jealous, but I done realized I need the heat of a gall-durn forge.
When folks’re actin’ like the arse end of a sick sheep, sometimes the only thing you’cn do is knock ‘em upside the head.
A nice dag-gum nose flattenin’ shuts most folk up. Only use this method fer yer peers’n friends though.
If’n you sock someone too low, yer a bully. If’n you flatten the nose of someone too high, you end up in the jailhouse. Or fired if it’s yer boss.
I need me some gall-durn pepperbean wine quick. That’s one thing ‘bout bein’ on the trail. It’s too durn easy to run out.
Dwarves’re proud folk. We work our dag-burned arses off to make our livin’s. You want respect from us? Plow a field or make somethin’.
We don’t have high-falootin’ kings’n castles. You’ll find our dag-gum leaders workin’ along side us.
Sometimes I wonder why the dag-gum hell I bother to write this stuff down. It ain’t fer myself, that’s fer sure.
Maybe it’s so my future kidsc’n know what their daddy knew. Hey, I’m only three hunnerd’n twelve. It could still happen, dag-nab it!
Sure, some kids’re great. But some kids’re dag-blamed pain’s in the arse’n make you wanna bust their daddy’s dag-gum face fer havin’ em.
Sure, it’cn be gall-durn funny when they’re learnin’ to walk and fallin’ on their faces or the first time they eat yer pepperbean stew.
Sure, you might be proud the first dag-gum time they say yer name or when they forge their first hammer.
Sure, one day you’cd even be proud to see ‘em head out to build their own forge and carry on the family name . . . I . . . blast it . . .
Here’s my thoughts on havin’ kids. I’m glad you got yer dag-burned kids. Dag-nab it, just don’t throw it in the face of those’uns who don’t.
Valentines day 2/14:
Sometimes a woman needs a good yellin’ and sometimes she needs a good kissin’. The trick is, you got to know when’s when.
The best durn time to be tender to yer woman’s usually when yer alone. Any other time, it’s no one’s dag-blasted business!
But there may come a time when it’d mean everthin’ to her if’n you just give her a big dag-gum smooch right in front of ever’body.
Now if’n someone see’s yer tender moments with yer woman and gives you grief, just go right ahead’n bust ‘em in the gall-durn mouth.
If’n you don’t wanna see somebody kissin’, confound-it-all, just don’t be a lookin’!
Menfolk, if’n you like a woman and wanna let her know, don’t just slap her arse. That’ll just make ’em wanna knee you in the dag-gum mush.
If’n you wanna give flowers, don’t buy ‘em at a gall-durn stand. Get ‘em from someplace dangerous, like old-man coot’s flower grove.
Womenfolk like to know you went through some effort to get their dag-gum gift. And the threat of a fire-runed battleaxe ‘tween yer eyes counts.
Valentines day Question and answer session.
Q: Tell us about your first love.
A: Dag-gum it, you would ask ’bout her. Don’t know whether to answer you or brake yer gall-durn nose, but . . . Her name was Gertie and she was a peach. Too bad her daddy was a frog-swallerin’ horse-thievin’ dust-lickin’ son of a goat!
Q: What’s your most embarrassing story when it comes to romance?
A: Why do folks get so dag-burned personal with their questions? Blast it, there was one time I was sweet on this girl worked in the tavern down in wormwood. One night I drank a little too much of the local maplewine and I tried to sweet talk her.
Don’t remember much, cept I woke up in the jail the next mornin’. I weren’t wearin’ my boots and they said I dun busted out the teeth of her gall-durn boyfriend. Didn’t know he was the mayor’s son. They run me outtta town after that. Ain’t seen the place for fifty years.
Q: ok I’ll bite. How do I find a strong burly but loyal man like Lenny in a world full of trolls?
A: First of all girl, there ain’t but one Lenui Firegobbler. Still if’n yer lookin’ fer a man who ain’t draggin’ his knuckles or hoop-skirtin’ ’round with other gals, don’t go after some gall-durn whipper-snapper. Find yerself a hard workin’ experienced man, then show him you’cd out work him, out curse him, and that you don’t mind kickin’ his dag-gum arse when her needs it. Then that man ain’t goin’ nowhere
Q: Lenny, describe your dream girl…
A: First of all, she’s gotta be dag-gum tough. She’s gotta be the type of woman who’ll holler at me when i’m wrong and admit it when I’m galldurn right. She won’t crawl in a corner if’n I holler neither. It also don’t hurt if she’s a looker, or if she’cn swing a hammer.
Garl-friggin’ nose-lickin’ turtle-popper! Durn saddle harness broke!
My saddle harness comes from a family design. I come from a dag-burned long line of dwarf riders. Works great most times.
But if’n the wrong strap breaks, you’ll find yer friggin’ arse sittin’ in the dirt, yer horse long gone down the trail.
Bettie’s fixin’ it up fer me. Even has some great gall-durn ideas fer makin it better. She had Coal magic up some leather for runin’.
Bettie’s a fine gal. Purty as hell and with a set of muscles that can pound the toughest metal. She’s also got one dag-gum big set of lungs.
Dag-nab it all, Bettie done asked me to tell her ‘bout my first gal, Gertie. Told her I don’t talk ‘bout that and stop yankin’ my eyebrow, blast it!
So I done told her every dag-gum thing ‘bout Gertie.
Thing ‘bout tellin’ stories of yer youth, you always come out soundin’ like a gall-durn idjit.
If’n yer woman makes you talk ‘bout past loves, yer in dag-blamed trouble. Ain’t no mistakin’ it.
Thing ‘bout Gertie was, she was nothin’ like what I like in a woman now. Dag-nab it, she was dainty, sweet, and shy.
No girl wants to hear that yer first love was the dag-burned opposite. I was young then. Didn’t know what made a woman tick, confound-it!
Mustache is growin’ out dag-gum well. Should be able to start takin’ wax to her in another week.
It probly sounds gall-durn strange to folks, but fer me any day without a ‘stache is a day of shame. Won’t feel like right ‘till it’s whole.
A Firegobbler wears his ‘stache like a dag-burned badge of honor. Its a sign of days gone yonder. Our family pride. Our family shame.
Dag-burned Corn-farmin’ toad-eatin’ Horse-poppin’ Dog-kicker!
Went to take a piss’n gall-durned Deathclaw’s a sittin’ in the tree watchin’. Cain’t do it when someone’s watchin’, dag-nab it!
So everybody knows dwarves’r resistant to magic. Don’t mean anytime you need some magic thing fixed send a dag-gum dwarf!
Cain’t tell you how many times some frog-sniffer comes up’n says, “Lenui, will you melt down this cursed scythe that done killed my crops?”
Hell no, I wont! Dwarves’r resistant to magic, dag-nab it! RESISTANT. Not magic proof you dag-burned stupid son of a dog!
I done learned my lesson a hunnerd years ago. I was on the trail with a couple good old boys when a dag-gum dragon flew by.
Now you’ll hear stories ‘bout a dragon with treasure or whatever, but that’s just turd tales. Only thing in gall-durn dragon’s dens’re bones.
My stupid brother Chugk says he found a set of armor in a dragon den once. But the durn thing was all chewed on’n burnt’n dag-blamed broken.
So we done saw this dag-gum dragon flyin’ by and we was like, let’s get the hell outta here. But then I seen its got a gall-durn lady in its mouth.
So one of the boys, his name was Gundy. He says, “Lenui, I think that lady’s alive!” Sure enough, I’cn see her punchin’ the thing in its blasted eye!
Well the dragon starts a flappin’ it’s dag-burned wings funny and then it starts fallin’. Hits the ground just over the hill.
Well Gundy wants to go see if’n the lady’s alive. I said, “Course she ain’t alive, you stupid corn jigger!” But he has to go see.
So we went to where the dag-gum dragon crashed and dag-nab it, I was right. Durn girl was dead but the dragon weren’t.
He was a dag-gum big red thing, all teeth’n claws’n fire. Thing is, girl died with her fist shoved in his eye and he couldn’t get it out.
He was a roaring and a rollin’ and she was all flappin’ ‘round like she was hangin’ onto his eye on fer dear life. Well, ‘cept she was dead.
Then stupid ol’ Gundy charged in like a dag-blasted idjit. The other boys ran right after him and I had no durn choice but to back ‘em up.
Now Gundy was a spearman and perty dag-gum good. He run in there and stabbed the blasted Dragon right in the neck.
But Dragons’re tough and this-un was already pissed. It started blowin’ fire. One boy was burnt up good. Gundy run but got his arse roasted.
I’ll tell you right now, Dragon fire hurts. It burns twice as hot as reg’lar fire. Gundy’s dag-burned arse was burned blacker than coal.
Our gall-durn healer did his best to fix it, but there’s only so much can be done with burns. From then on we called him Gundy Half-Arse.
Well we had one man dead. Gundy was down and dag-blamed dragon knew we was there. Dag-nab it, I knew it was up to me.
While the other boys scrambled, the dragon went back to tryin’ to get the lady’s hand out its eye. I run at it, Buster in my dag-gum hand.
‘Stead of runnin’ at its good eye, I run at its lady hand eye. Gall-durn thing didn’t see me comin’.
I busted that varmint’s noggin hard as I could. Cracked his dag-blamed skull. Tried to drag himself away, but me and the boys started in.
After a couple more bashes with Buster and some good sword swings from the boys, that durn dragon was deader than momma’s fish stew.
While our healer took a look at Gundy’s burnt hind end, I took a look at the lady with her dag-gum fist in the dragon’s eye.
She’d been chewed on perty durn good, but I knew she was a fighter. Her beefy dag-burned arm was shoved in its eye up to the elbow.
I yanked on her arm, but it weren’t comin’ out. I had to bust the dragon’s skull apart to get her free. Somethin’ was in her gall-durn fist.
Finally got her arm pulled out the dragon’s eye and we saw why it was stuck. She had a dag-burned dagger stuck in her fist.
The dagger had a long blade stuck out both the top and bottom of the hilt and a finger guard with spikes. Thing was dag-gum wicked.
I’cd see right away the dagger was well made. The boys was oohin’ and awwin’ over it, but we couldn’t get her gall-durn fingers loose.
While they tried, I was searchin’ the rest of her. She had a satchel on her with a sack of gold’n a bunch of dag-gum scrolls’n letters.
I snatched the gold’n was checkin’ the letters’n one of the boys done poked his finger on one of them spikes. It swoll up like a durn melon.
He was a hollerin’ and swingin’ his giant finger like he was tryin’ to shake the thing off his hand. Which is what dag-gum happened.