“Are you thure about thith?” Daffy asked, snapping on the recorder again once he had threaded a new tape through it.
“Eh-y, eh-y, eh-yes,” Porky said, as firmly as he could through the stutter. “This is n-not going to go on the, eh, l-laptop.”
“That’th not what I mean. Why do you want to make a thtatement tho bad?”
“I-I mean, it’s eh-wh, eh-wh, eh-wh, eh-what we eh-d-do here.”
Daffy snorted. “No, what we do ith rethearch thtatementh. Uthually made by liarth, prankthterth, and the mentally unwell.”
Porky shrugged. “Well, you eh-tuh, eh-tuh, eh-trust me, and you can all a-attest to my eh-suh-sanity, eh-r-right?”