How many pageses does we have, precious?
[Counting] One... two... F... blue... nine. We haves nine.
[Shrieking] We fails, precious!
We can do it, precious! We can finish the nassty paper! (Yes, finish the nassty paper, squeeze it, precious! Wring its filthy neck...) What's that smell?
[Sniffing the air] They're cooking the Chex mix!
AHHHHHH! Why do they do it, precious? Why do they cook the nice Chexes in butter and sprinkle nassties on them?
Cruel parentses! Cruel, wicked parentses who eat up all the snackses and cook the nice Chexes! They knows it makes us sick! They knows it burns, precious, it freezes! Nobody likes us! Nobody cares if we starves! Nobody cares if we--if we--
Now, don't go roarking in the pool again, precious...