This man, crystal ball tell me, he no good. Man burns tires in front yard. Never even once washed his window curtains. Children by this man mistake. Hands too large to be pet-groomer. Forgets birthdays. Man no good.
Miracle Whip and Mayonnaise are not the same thing. It’s day and night, people. Day and night! No. I’m not going to put down the knife until we get this straight.
Bunnies lay eggs near marshmallow chicks! On Dancer! On Comet! On Cleanser and Vicks! Give me your tired! Your porous! Your licorice sticks! Now dash away! Dash away! Dog-bearing ticks!
And so we meet again, Mr. Radcliff. You have successfully evaded the poisonous puffer fish, the chainsaw wielding midgets, and the rancid half-and-half. But you are still in the way, like a vine that must be pruned. Let me take this opportunity to express my condolences to the soon-to-be widowed Mrs. Radcliff.
I have renamed the color orange. The name is a secret for the time being. Please do not ask me to tell you. Patience is required in this matter. The name change will affect everything, of course. The citrus industry will never be the same—that goes without saying. But it will be better in the long run. For everybody.
Let us sing of the Motherland! Of iceberg lettuce and big-ankled girls!
Where are the mentholated cigarettes of my tender youth? The jovial friends with dangerously high blood alcohol levels firing handguns into the sky?
Let us sing of the Motherland! Of our number one exports: dyed fish gravel and pirated software! Let us shout down and eventually knife in a physical altercation anyone who sullies the name of the Motherland!
Hi! My name is Brandon! I, small of knee and rash-proned, am looking for a wife! My gums are healthy and I have two walk-in closets! I have an aversion to the color green, but this notwithstanding, I am lactose-tolerant, travel well, and am not opposed to dating women with c-section scars! I still live at home with my parents, but I have my own private entrance!
I dodge your bullets with impunity. To smell my own armpits is but a small price to pay to see you so readily confounded.
What are you? A wise guy? I told you to stay in the car! We pump the gas, here! We’re a customer service joint! Get that through your thick skull, you piece of garbage! No self-service! Understand? Now get back in the damn car!
Tell your three-legged dog to keep his distance or I, Jaundice Man, will give him jaundice! And that goes for you, too, you rebate coupon-stealing low-life! Would you care for a nasty bout of jaundice as well?
Psychic animals with magnets say you have a lying tongue, you no good harlot!
Car broke down. Mile down road. Neighborly assistance required, as is time-honored American custom according to database. Disengage deadbolt on door so that neighborly assistance may be administered according to time-honored American custom. (Twenty second delay in repetition of this message…)
Car broke down. Mile down road…
A few more strategically placed chigger bites and we're looking at Ripley’s Believe It or Not!