This scene occurs in Lake Wobegon, the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.  It smells of stagnate, uneducated yokel.

 Irv burn wurkin on der railrerd all dere lerve lerng der!  Irv burn wurkin on der railrerd jurst to purse dere term awere!  Curnt yur hur dere whistle blurring, rires urp sur urler in dere murning!  Curnt yur hur dere capturn sharting, Mildreder blur yur hurn!

"Well dere’s alwurs next yur!"

"We nerded mur rallers against der Yankurs!"

"Der pavstacher curmin burck?"

"You betcha!  Why wurd he wannur gooo anywur else!?!"

"Ya sure, yur durn tootern!"

"He curd be ter spendy der…"

"Urd sell mer sull to der loosieferder tur see urt!"

"Der dickens you wurd!"

Mildrer wurnt yur blur!

Mildrer wurnt yur blur!

Mildrer wurnt yur blur yur hurn!

Mildrer wurnt yur blur!

Mildrer wurnt yur blur!

Mildrer wurnt yur blur yur hurn!

 In a dark basement filled with archaic tackle and bait; with bloodstained walls due to countless innocent animals killed for sport and jerky, Henry and Bill are sitting in a reconstructed ice-fishing house with a portly gent tied to a chair.  The basement is filled to the brim with HO scale paraphernalia.  This poor soul has a ball-gag in his mouth and looks a lot like Santa Claus.

(pictured here is Bill ca. 1995)

"Turk der ballgurg urt, I wannur questiurn der Gurdy.!"

"Ur still thurnk we shurd throw hurs burdy in Lake Minnetonker!"

"Pur me anuthur glug."

Henry removes the ball gag on Gardenhire.

"I knew you freckly fucks were on some serious shit but this is fucking ridiculous.  Let me go now!  If you want me to resign, I’ll resign, just let me go.  I have a wife and children."

"Wurt happurned to yur?  We youst tur bur dere peskiest turm in der lurg.  Fer shaim Gurdy fer shurm."

"We won fucking 94 games what more could you possibly fucking want, you tow-haired, drooling, simpletons.  What that noise?"

"Oh thurt!?!  Thurts little Hurnry Jr. takurn der old Burlingturn 101 fur ur loop.  He’s practursin fer dere Fur-H railrerd raller durse Januarer"

"Yur bringurn burck der pavstacher rurt?  Jimmers?"

"I don’t assemble the rosters, I just fill out the lineup cards, you Lutheran fuckwit."

"Bring back der pavstacher…ur ulse!"

"I’ll see what I can do."

"Thurts nurt gurd enurf!"

Bill brandishes a lumberjack’s axe and raises it above his head as if to strike poor Gardy.  Just as he does, Henry’s wife Mildred open the basement door and yells, "Come urn urnd gurt urt!"

"Be rurt urp hurnner!"

"Der hotdursh savered yer thurse tirme, Gurdy!"

Surmwurns in dere kurtchen with Mildrer

Surmwurns in dere kurtchen I nur

Surmwurns in dere kurtchen with Mildrer

Choking on dere oold hurt-dersh!

(Henry and Mildreder at the Statefair ca. 2005)

3 hours later the two emerge from the country-style kitchen and head down the rickety stairs and back into the basement after countless prayers and potlucking.

"How aboot thurt!?!"

"Food is ur drug, fer shure and urm higher den dere kite."

"Please just let me go…your little lutefisk Henry Jr. has been subjecting me to creepy HO scale trivia…this is all too bizarre…are you going to kill me because if you are just get it over with…I’ve had a good life, if its time, its time."

"Uff da! Wur nurt gunner kill ya Gardy Gunner!"

"Yeahr!  Wur jurst gunner keep yur hur furrever or until you grrrruntee pavstacher curmes burck nurxt yur!  Which ever curmes furst!"

"Ok.  I promise Carl comes back, I promise!"

"I thurnk yur crussing yur fingurs!  I don’t believe yur!"

"Fuck, I’m a man of my word…what’s that smell?"

"Hotdersh makes bad gurse.  Gert yursed to urt!  Yur gunner be hur a whiler!"

Bill shatters Gardy’s legs with the blunt end of an axe and puts him in the guest bedroom to recover.  Will Gardy make it to spring training or will he be mired in perpetual Twaindom until Revelations comes to pass?

 Fi fur furddly I urrrrrrrr

Fi fur furdlly I urrrr

Choking on dere oold hurt-dersh!

I wish the Twain fans a wondere-ful winter!  Nestle cozily next to yur sturves and heat up yur flannel long johns and try to keep those ass traps shut.  What ever you do only eat yur peas with a knife and slather your homemade maple syrup on yur hotcakes and dishes.  And for the love of Danner Gladden, upgrade your model trainsets with new lichen. Try not to sour your morals in this winter of your discontent.  Perhaps you guys can get the Ultimate Warrior to run for Secretary of Transportation and upgrade your inferstructure so you can live to see another playoff quagmire.  I can smell your freckle-stench from here take a fucking bath or two while you’re at it and get some indoor plumbing for Godssake.