Your Majesty, what I’m saying is that I am a worrier---all I do all day long is worry about every little thing that could possibly go wrong.
It’s O.K, everybody has a different definition of success! Yours just seems remarkably close to failure.
How do you respond to claims that your true identity is Speaker Guy and your do-good speaker smashing is a ruse to crank up speaker demand?
Focus, Bob. Just you and the ball. Crap. Fore!
O Lord, I called upon the sacred number, as it was written on the back of my card.
It’s important to find a hobby that you enjoy to a much lesser degree than the rolling oceanic pleasure you would get from pure retribution.
As we prepare to celebrate our great nation’s Sestercentennial, it behooves me to make it known that I am not merely a Raymour or Flanigan.
I hate to be that guy, but your mother and I are splitting up.
Who has one thumb and makes poor decisions with power tools? This guy.
I’m the kind of person who claps when the plane crashes.
Obviously, not eating tacos isn’t an option, so here’s some helpful ways to hide your undignified devouring.
I don’t let my face betray what I’m beholding because I’m a pro, and I like to maintain an air of mystery, but sometimes it’s just like, yeesh.
Shipbuilders? Fishermen? Coal Barons? Seals? Furniture Makers?
I, Your Ratty Underwear, give my consent to die a natural death.
