I haff no monny left, I’m brock

Amanda forwarded an email to me that her friend wrote. The part regarding me is below:

Hey, those were neat pictures. Your boyfriend appears scholarly. I like the smirk. Seems stocky too. I’ve noticed that a lot of my respect for other men comes from sort of ‘judging the book by the cover.’ You know, guys that can do things for themselves. Strong, Assertive, Reliable, Competent, Calloused hands, and no egos. The thing that throws me off, and always has is his name. Brock. Brock. Bee Are Oh See Kay. Hi there, my name is Brock. To me, that has
always been a specific sound effect. Specifically, a new tennis ball. “Jeez! Hey buddy, watch out for that ball!!!” What?? BROCK!!! Or an Asian getting accustomed to American music. “Ya, I like Brock and Broll.” Put a firecracker in a hole in a tennis ball, KA-BROCK!! Or a vegetarian refering to a wholesome green on a friendly, familiar basis, “want cheese on your brock?” Or a gambler in Las Vegas with a lisp, “I haff no monny left, I’m brock.”