After beating that mutant horde, do you remember how we just couldn't go any further and decided to picnic atop the fallen corpses of our enemies?
Somehow I just couldn't stay pissed off at frat guy. He was my tax wingman, even though he totally killed my self-esteem.
My problem is atoms. I don't like 'em, I don't wanna have anything to do with 'em, and I definitely don't wanna be made out of them.
Here's the truth, "Harmonica Guy": I don't feel sorry for myself or my neighbors subjected to this audial torture, I feel sorry for the harmonica!
How long has this burrito thing been languishing in the microwave? How did it get there in the first place? And most importantly, can I eat it?
The farting, the boozing, the singing, the lamenting... good grief, what a bunch of lazy, pretentious midgets with nothing to do but stir up drama.
Why don't Elsa's gloves freeze when she's wearing them? Those manacles they clapped onto her hands when she was in prison sure froze though, didn't they?