I tell you the truth, it's more aptly defined as "partialism" as opposed to a fetish. Also, the areas of the brain that pertain to genitals and feet are right next to each other, and evidently it's quite common for there to be some Venn diagram style overlap.

I tell you the truth, friend, "Chevy Van" is the better 70's Song About Fucking.

I tell you the truth, motherfucker has a FIVEhead!

I tell you the truth, this is but one of many instances where the ceaseless translating has got shit all fucked up and shit. She actually washed my hair with her feet, because she didn't have any fuckin' arms. It was weird as a motherfucker, too. Don't get me wrong, I gave her some arms because of her faith and all…

I tell you the truth, needs more feet.

I tell you the truth, they should have cast Uma Thurman instead or, shit, Hillary Swank even.

I tell you the truth, you make a good point but people seem to be overlooking the fact that "Sunset Grill" is much more egregious than this song. It sounds like one of those guys who shows up at a bar and grill in Florida in his sandals with a wonky keyboard, a DI box, and an Epiphone. He'd play this one and then, of…

I tell you the truth, it's about Dad damn time! I got some tales that would make Joss Whedon's dick fall off. Here's a quick one:

I tell you the truth, my uncle is a ghost. A holy one. I only see him on my birthday anymore, and he gives me cologne every single year. Although I hate to seem ungrateful, it's always borderline noxious shit I would never wear like Lapidus by Ted Lapidus, Scott McClintock, or cologne from outfits that have no earthly…

I tell you the truth, one bug, two bug, three bug, four. These bugs just fuckin' eat, so there'll be hundreds more.

I tell you the truth, Ah! Shit logs!!! is my go-to.

I tell you the truth, my old man is just playing a really long game of "Keep Telling Yourself That" with these motherfuckers.

I tell you the truth, I should jump on this shit. I can turn water into pretty much anything I want, but I can't turn other stuff back into water, which is weird. You'd think I'd be able to do that, but once I turn it to Heineken or Arizona iced tea, that's it. I could turn it into something else, but not water. Seems…

I tell you the truth, brah I haven't done a keg stand for a minute either, and no way in shit am I doing one now. My robe'll creep down (up?) and people will see that my bloated ass is still rockin' some busted as fuck Tommy Hilfiger boxers from '97, but I took a vow of poverty (except for the Jeep Rubicon) so what do…

I tell you the truth, let he who is without sin cast the first bro.

I tell you the truth, I will insert something here. Shit is always going to go pear shaped on you, Cat. It does for everybody. It's just odds or some shit - the longer you're around, the greater the chance of something vaguely dick shaped going you know where, man. And nobody jumps the line into the fuckin' Kingdom,…

I tell you the truth, I'm intrigued though. Now I kinda wanna see the girl behind the burqaaaaa-aaaa-aaa-jhgsrt;lgvihgviawrghv.

I tell you the truth, "Fartpop" would work pretty well. You know, like it's one of those farts that's just a single "POP!" instead of the rip we're accustomed too. I get those all the time. In fact, I was going to get "THUG LIFE" tattooed across my buttcheeks because it sounds like my ass is saying "Pac!"

I tell you the truth, the Icelandic director must have said, all Icelandy, "Now, Beal Pax-tewn, the direction I woant you to go in is, if you can imagine, the most predictable way. Like, this man is a psychopith, but I want you to play him as refined, speaking el-o-quoont-lee, you see. Nobody has ever takoon that…

I tell you the truth, I know I do! The one I have isn't quite long enough to reach the back deck, so I could use an extension. I gotta spray all this bird shit off the deck before my Thursday Night Thunder BBQ.