Try me loins. Sad.

Try ladies mons.

Dreamy tonsils.

Fresh off the beet farm.

Ask for the Dutch Oven.

Beef soup.

Affray.

I oppose those thumbs.

In your BoniFACE, Marchman.

We all know we’re participating in advertising here, right? Just smells like content marketing to me....

Not me, but my daughter: In the armrest, window switch and door pocket of my car. Couldn’t hold it another two blocks to home.

Frozen beef.

Yes, in which the sides take to the pitch.

As a plus, the Big Baller secret handshake also fulfills the annual testicular palpation examination. For two.

That reminds me—I need to schedule a massage this week.

Mike drop.

Casting no aspersions, but where does “D.C. Sports Meltdown status” rank in the pantheon of [Municipal Area] Sports Meltdown statuses?

“Dude, save some for Davante.”

“Hey, Torquemada, what’s an affray?”

What if I find mindful people unpleasant?