You’re very welcome to watch a movie, but little Olivia has chewed the arrow buttons off the remote so it will have to be the Paw Patrol movie.
And God said, “Let there be great music so none of them talk to each other,” and there was a DJ who worked in finance but DJed on the side.
He’ll make sure every American has access to basic libido killers, like subscriptions to the Criterion Channel and graphic tees that say “Mommy’s Little Gamer.”
Tells you in no uncertain terms that they are "NOT sleepy." Orders you to play the same song. Again.
I may be able to melt steel with my laser vision, but I can also melt faces with my dazzling clarinet solos.
I keep trying to bring up how none of us know our new lines or fit into our new costumes, but Duncan just keeps shouting, “That’s showbiz, baby.”
“Sorry, I can’t, I’m doing drugs later with a different group of cooler kids.”
He died how he lived: absolutely slamming expired Capri Suns.
If you’re determined enough, everything is a choking hazard.
“Mommy, what’s that deep groaning sound from inside the walls, saying that being with an adequate partner is preferable to risking a lifetime of loneliness?”
“Don’t worry, Sweetie, that’s just the house settling.”
Con: Quite frequently we will have leave during movie night to oversee the search for knights and an exorcist.
“The ABCs” isn’t even a good name. I don’t really see the draw.
Attempt to wash as baby breakfasts upon me and Mr. Franklin inquires as to where I’ve hidden his double spectacles; point to spectacles on Mr. Franklin’s face.
Atheists say there are no higher powers, but the first time you see a Neptoid’s sponges you’ll realize atheists don’t know shit.
All mouth-blown, no helium balloon pumps allowed! And when I say “we,” I really mean just me.
We are here to serve scorn and derision, and able to discern the net worth of patrons with a half-second, contemptful glance.
Smiling or otherwise expressive mouse head-shaped pancakes are trademarked.
