pinions of buddy don: sayins

me n miz bd wus jes talkin bout how thays lil frazes that folks lacks to use overn over agin, witch ye call them 'sayins.' heres three that cum up:

1. a lot depends on a lot: thisn cum frum my irish friend n tiz one of the bes openin thangs fer a knee-go-shee-ay-shun that i ever herd. i seen im use it minny a time in a bizness meetin whar he wuz hopin to git a contract or sumbidy wuz a'wontin to git him to ackcep thar terms. mayhap the client would say, 'how much will it cost me?' he wood stroke his beerd a bit, look the feller in the eye, in say, 'a lot depends on a lot.'
   
2. sumthins goin on: thisn cum frum eli, witch ifn ye been readin that novel name of life n pinions of buddy don, hillbilly, ye dun met eli n know bout how hes a skizofrenic. so thays times whar he gits into a rant bout sumthin or uther: strange thangs hes witnessed, jesus, death, yew name it. then he'll turn to ye lack hes givin ye the secret to splain everthang: sumthins goin on.
   
3. i could be wurse: i been a'usin thisn fer years. whenever folks spots sumbidy they know, they gut to say, 'how ya doin?' mos folks jes doot thisaway. furstn sez, 'how ya doin?' tuthern answers, 'how you doin' sumtimes tuthern mite anser, 'hangin in,' or 'im good,' or 'fine, you?' but i gut in the habit of ansering, 'i could be wurse,' n fack is it stops mos everbidy in thar tracks while they duz the logick to figger am i ok or not. sumtimes they mite say, 'i'm sorry,' witch i never meant to make em feel sorry. thays otherns that laffs n sum that sez, 'me too!' n corse thays the wits that sez, 'i been better.' sum of the wits mean thays bettern me n otherns is bein ironick bout how bad thangs is n sum is bein literull bout how thangs is. n sum dont much know whut they mean. 
        innywho, reason i gut to sayin thisn is how one time i had me a sinus in-feckshun whar no matter whut i dun, my nose wus clogged fer near a week. i couldnt hardly sleep n whenever i did, i wood wake up with my throat n lips n tongue parched n dry lack they coverd in a thin layer of sand. twuz so frutratin i wonted to cry. insted, i finely prayed to god n promissd that ifn i ever could breathe thru my nose agin, i woodnt fergit bout how no matter how bad thangs mite look at inny given moment, they could always be wurser on a counta lease yer still breathin thru yer nostrils. thang is, whenever i gut to follern that logick, it led me to real eyesin whut a fortune i gut n harldy notice, witch i mean all them thangs i gut on my birthday lack eyes n hands n feet n waterproof skin n a brain n more blessins than ye could ever list in jes one blog, too minny to count even ifn ye spent yer hole life a'doon it, witch taint a bad thang to do.

today the sun is up n me n miz bd is fixin to take our visters over to ride on the circle line, witch ifn yer wunderin how i'm a'doin, well, a lot depends on a lot on a counta how sumthins goin on, but i could be wurse.