Lenny Swears in January 2013

(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.


January 2013


Dag-gum blasted rockbiter!

Some corn-jigger tried to pass me some fake coins today. Broke his gall-durn arm!

If’n yer stew don’t make you regret you was born the next mornin’, it weren’t made by a Firegobbler!

Blasted boot’s got a dag-gum hole it it. What the? That dag-blamed Gwyrtha’s done been chewin’ it again!


Blasted frog-lickin’ rogue horse buried me in my dag-burned sleep again last night. Got dirt in places I’ll never dag-gum find!

Lemme tell you somethin’. Bear meat is tougher’n a gall-durn boot heel.


Garl-friggin’ nose-bitin’ Half-orc won’t give me a dag-gum break!

You gotta know it’s dag-gum love when a woman chews yer hind end like a cow chewin’ cud.


Listen here, gall-durn it. Elves might be good drinkers, but they ain’t worth nothin’ as a dag-cum cook.

What self-respectin’ cookey serves friggin’ twigs and leaves with yer dinner? I’d rather eat dag-gum cat turds.

And any cookey serves me blasted cat turds is gettin’ my hammer in his eye!

Only cooks worse’thn elves are dag-gum gnomes and that’s just ‘cause they plain forget to feed you. Durn elves . . .

Don’t get me dag-gum wrong, now. Elf forest fruit is good fer healin’. It just don’t make you feel full or nuthin’.

A real meal should make you feel like yer belly’s ‘bout to burst, dag-nab it! Next mornin’ yoush’d be layin’ hot coals!

And by layin coals I mean yer dag-gum steamers should be burning holes in the garl-friggin’ ground!

Yoush’d be able to cook yer next blasted meal on the turds you pop out after eatin’ my pepperbean stew!


A good smithy oughtta’ be able to do moreth’n just make dag-gum swords. Plows’n horseshoes’n hoes can sing too.

Fire’n hellstones! Bear meat again! Blasted ogre’s gotta know there’s other kinds of critters in the dag-blamed woods!


A good woman wants her man to be dag-blamed tough. She don’t want no hoop-skirtin’ flower sniffer!

If a woman knows you’cn bust the teeth out of a dirt-eatin’ troll with yer fists, she’ll swoon when you kiss her dag-gum hand.


Gall-durn cow-tippin’ crab-snatchin’ son of a pickle farmer!

Stubbed my dag-blamed toe on that wart-sniffin’ ogre’s mace!

I done told that squirrel-lover his mace was gall-durn priceless! You don’t leave a Firegobbler weapon layin’ on the dag-blasted ground!


Sometimes some whipper-snapper learns a dag-gum rune or two and tries to smith with magic. That’s a quick way to lose a garl-friggin’ hand!

Magic smithin’ takes decades of practice. You’ll lose more eyebrows than a fume-sniffin’ dragon tamer ‘fore you’cn make a weapon that sings.

My stupid nephew Nhed had four hoes blow up in his gall-durn face ‘fore that boot-licker made one that wouldn’t lose its blasted edge.


That Deathclaw feller makes my dag-blamed hackles raise. Sometimes I done see him starin’ at me like I was a frog-suckin’ hog on a spit!

Edge says Deathclaw’d never try to eat us, but I done got Buster at the ready anyways. If’n he tries, he’ll lose a dag-gum mouthful of teeth!

I done told Deathclaw dwarf meat’d be tougher than a dag-burned tree trunk. Edge says he said “maybe”. What the hell’s that ‘posed to mean?


Some foks been complainin’ ‘bout my cookin’ style. Sayin’ I done used the same spices fer ev’ry dag-gum meal. Well stop yer cryin’!

This is dag-burned trail food, son! It’s ‘posed to warm yer belly and give you the corn-founded energy to keep blasted walkin’!

This ain’t no high-falootin’ city inn. You ain’t gettin’ five courses with yer choice of gall-durn spices. Shut yer yap and eat ‘fore I shut it for you!


Finally done shaved the other half of my dag-blamed moustache to match the side that got burnt off.

Bettie hates that my handlebar’s gone. Keeps shakin’ her head. Nothin’ fer her to tug on, I guess. It’d better grow back in blasted fast.

Lost a gall-durn eyebrow too. Can’t quite make myself shave the other’n though. A Firegobbler’s got to have some dag-blasted pride!


Gall-durn shoe-chewin’ dirt-lickin’ corn-jigger!


Lemme tell you somethin’ about Giants. Fer the most part, they’re just really friggin’ stupid big dag-blamed humans.

When fightin’ a giant, it’s best to start bustin’ their dag-gum toes and knees. They’ll holler and whine like lolly-droppin’ girls!

Just watch yer gall-durn head. If’n a giant brains you with club or a rock or somethin’, they’ll pop yer head like a ripe dag-gum grape!


Moonrats’r dag-blamed nasty things! Livin’ in the muck, eatin’ eachother, eatin’ evert’thin’. Right make me wanna vomit!

Their glowin’ eyes just creep me out! And they pop right out of their garl-friggin’ heads when you bust em! Dag-burned nasty!


Knew some dwarves in wobble ‘cided to try cookin’ up some of that nasty moonrat. Kharl and Broose were their names. Dag-burned idiots.

Gall-durn boys were goose-flippin’ hog-snorters most the time, but they was funny at the alehouse. Coulda’ been decent smithys if’n they wasn’t yappin’ all day.

We’cd smell the dag-blamed moonrat cookin’ across town. The smell’d make yer gall-durn nosehairs wanna curl up’n fall out.

One minute them boys was chokin’ the moonrat meat down, next they was surrounded my twenty more of them rats, all moanin’ and carryin’ on.

Moonrat moans’ll send chills up yer dag-burned soul and them dwarves wasn’t warriors. They was a shakin’ and pissin’ their pants.


Dag-burned moonrats! In Wobble! Them things attacked them boys and the whole dag-burned town had to come help fight the frog-lickin’ things.

Took an hour to put the gall-durn moonrats down. They die easy, but they put up a dag-burned fight. Half the town had scratches’n bites!

Them boys that ate the rat was in bad blasted shape at the end. Broose lost a friggin’ eye. Kharl had half his guts ripped out’n died the next mornin’!

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