Mon then ya mad rockets, let’s be goin’ to see some stone floaters. There’s a many a good throw in the crowd. I’ll admit there’s a few that rips ma knitting, but none dodgy. The peach with the elbow looks a stoater, but he got it right roon ye, din’t he, ya dafties? He starts a proper nigel but the assembled dae a burly and take him to their bosom, don’t they?
Please bear with me. My Cyrillium is rusty. Or is that language called Cyrillanegran? I can’t remember. I was really loaded back in school most of the time. Being loaded was worth extra credit in that language class, though, because a proper Russkie was teaching it. Not like shop class. That guy was completely unreasonable about holding a mixed drink in your left hand while you used the drill press with your right. I think he was just jealous that I still had a left hand. Anyway, I’ll take a stab at translating the audio for you:
Flip-Flops to the junkyard. To. The. Junkyard.
I’ve been to the junkyard, plenty. As a matter of fact, I’ve been to the junkyard to get parts for 1960s Mustangs, and their idiot adopted cousin, the Fairlane. A proper junkyard is full of snakes, yo. As a matter of fact, we used to go snake hunting in the junkyard. You’re going car hunting in a snakeyard. Wearing toddler shorts ain’t helping your look, either, dude. And you keep returning to the junkyard without any tools. You’re on the Motor Trend channel, so you’re obviously dilettantes, so we’ll move on.
That dude can flat-out stripe. I said, dude can stripe. I SAID, THE DUDE CAN STRIPE. WHAT? I SAID THAT THE DUDE COULD STRIPE. STRIPE. HE CAN STRIPE, I SAID.
ROBERT IS HIS NAME.
I SAID, HE SAID HIS NAME WAS ROBERT.
ROBERT.