“Are you a shield? Because I want to smash you with heavy things until you or the thing breaks.”
“Girl, you must have been an awful baby, because you’re ugly as hell… but I’d still carry you back to my cave. Maybe they’ll get my brains and your looks; why should WE be miserable?”
“Are you a warhammer? Because I want to swing you around and make you scream my name upon the vast and pitiless East Wind.”
“I must be a half-orc, because looking at you just gave me a massive… battle rage. I’m famed for the… extraordinary battle range I possess. Actually, looking at anyone in your army makes me do that. Looking at toast makes me do that. I may need therapy.”
“You’re like a fresh battlefield — covered in blood and making me excited.”
“Did it hurt when you fell from the sky? Or did you just land on your face to be competitive with other Orc fashion models?”
“I’m not a dentist, but I’d still love to get between those tusks.”
“Are you my axe? Because I want to grip you tight and chop wood all night, or at least until my wife comes home and starts swinging you against the door jam?”
“I lost my tribe… can I join yours and make some half-orc babies? They’ll have adorable blue lies and unexpected political acumen.”-
“You’re so hot you make my battle-rage feel like… a different kind of rage.”
“I’m no necromancer, but I’d still raise something when I see you. I’m… assuming it’s training.”
“Are you a dire wolf? Because I want to ride you into battle… and also in my tent.”
“Girl, you must be from the enemy clan, because I want to conquer you violently, possibly before you get me alone and pop my eyes out like seedless grapes?”
“I have a big club… and I’m not talking about my war club. Or my ceremonial club. Or my every day club. Just the really big club.”
“I’m like an orc siege engine — slow, loud, and guaranteed to break something.”
“You must be a healing potion, because looking at you just gave me +10 to stamina and a sense that I probably could have used the money on alcohol.”
“Never ask why we call it the ‘Underdark’.”
These lines have roughly the success rate of charging a fortified gate with a wooden club. Some of them are so bad they loop back around to being almost charming. Most of them will get you hit. A few of them might get you hit and still end up back at the cave. Orcs have simple standards.
If you try any of these and somehow survive the night, consider yourself a legend. Or at least a cautionary tale the younger orcs will laugh about while sharpening their axes.
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