Regarding your autobiography, "The Real Mr. T: I Pity the Fool Who Wears Gold-Plated," this was a hard one for us, but regrettably, we have to pass.
I first became suspicious of my supposed 8th birthday trip to Disney after seeing tons of balding men and refrigerators, and no sign of Mickey Mouse.
In my quest to pitch "The King of Queens" a year before Kevin James could, I accidentally interrupted my parents' first date, thus ruining my marriage.
Get ready for that not-so-candid "candid" photo by the Christmas tree of the bride-to-be looking up at her 2-inch-taller groom like he's on a ladder.
I realize that ruining the sacred post-blockbuster cinema space with comments on the beauty of the most beautiful man in the galaxy was wrong.
OMG! This award-winning humanitarian and advocate for oppressed peoples doesn't know how to operate decades-old agricultural equipment.
I'm sorry I kept going to the helm and telling the Captain, "I'm the Captain now." However, if everyone had backed up my mutiny, the trip would have been fine.
Powerful men are being held accountable for their despicable actions in watershed moments, but are we forgetting about true watersheds?
Before you jump down my throat about how I obviously shouldn't have worn jorts to a job interview, it was at a company that SOLD JEAN SHORTS.
I wonder if my indoor sunglasses and the giant jug of orange juice betray my hangover? The glare from Sister Beatrice indicates yes.