Where's My Damn Scooby Snack?

I'm at the end of this awful flu, and though the fever has finally gone, I'm left with a cough, and the most ridiculous sounding laryngitis. I sound like Scooby-Do. In fact, each time I attempt speaking, I laugh so hard at the sound of my voice that it starts the coughing spell once again. This would be amusing to Danny if he'd ever watched Scooby-Do, but he hasn't. Instead, the child has taken to finishing my sentences for me so as to be spared listening to my high and low screeches.

Whey der Shwaggy, where's de Scooby snacks?