Cream Basketball Challenge

My name is Terry's Chocolate Orange.

Mein Bein tut weh.

Ich heiße Terry's Chocolate Orange.

My leg hurts.

Steal my arms and I'll poison you from the toes down.

Steal my legs and I'll steal yours.

I don't have eyes, you can't steal them.

But wouldn't you like to, cubey thumbs.

I have a copy of Dark Side of the Moon taped to my armpit hair.

Which armpit you say?

You'll just have to listen to Money.

Paper Yoda.

Audio splitter.

A modern Polish penny.

A fake medieval Polish coin.

A writing device.

A mug of tea.

Scissors.

A remote for an old broken CD player.

Two wooden hands.

Why does my USB stick have a screwdriver in it.

Why does your radiator have tiny ears on it.

Allow me to drape these curtains.

But I cannot curtain the drapes?

I can pass the grapes.

Or I can grape you.

The connection?

There is one.

And someday we'll find it.

Believe there's the reverse keyboard of the sky.

And here comes the funk.

The riff.

The chorus.

The pain.

Synthesised suffering.

Genuine tears.

Dictating novels is alright.

Dictating countrys, not so.

Sweetly, nor with the hams.

But I will never concentrate.

Your feelings are inferior to mine, I say.

I believe you are amazing.

I believe I am amazing.

We should perform our wildest movements.

Displaying our brass for the class.

Put in a box and shove it down the whirlpool.

The whirlpool?

The ignorance of the public.

It's coming at you.

As am I.

Why?

Ask yourself.

I told the brother, he called me Jay.

I told the brother, he called me See.

I told the brother, he called me Em.

I beat him down.

For he had insulted me.

I picked him up every day.

Every day.

The debt was repayed.

Revolving plants.