Nena looked up as another man joined the party, and took offense to his claims that her rat was rotten. So she put her foot down, and crossed her arms. 
"Hey! Dingle-berry! My rat isn't rotten, it's fermented. I doubt such an unfratinized kazbar like yourself would know the difference, but there is plenty of difference. I make Rat cake, rat sorbet, rat pudding, and strawberry tart. A diocisian lumpgrad like yourself wouldn't eat them though, so more for more!" Nena finished. Her...'insults' - if they could be called that - were entirely nonsenstical, as if she had taken a lexicographical hammer and bashed some letters together until bits stopped falling off.