I'd love to connect with the singer. Like a boxer connects with another boxer's face.

If it ain't Sir Mix-a-Lot, who gives a fuck?

STOP LOOKING AT HER BOOBIES!!!

I'm an ugly dude, and I like to think I work for the forces of good. Good fuckin', that is!

Can I come? I only produce bilious farts every seven or eight minutes.

OPTIPENIS PRIME

And I'm still alive! I mean, I'm feeling a little bit peaked, sure, but ACK!!!

Oh hell why bother?
You can't have a "reasonable discussion" about this film. I'll shit on the face of anyone who pays me to do so.

Besides, Whedon's jock smells like ice cream and cotton candy.

I miss O'Neal too. *HE* sends me pornographic pictures of his female relatives. All Pierce ever sends me is fake Publisher's Clearinghouse winner letters, each with a carefully aged slice of bologna in it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
POOPS IN MY BEER!

All your boners are weird.

Only on the off-chance I might see some boobies! It's not like I was checking out her home decor or anything!

Sure, but what are the odds? Come on!

STOP LOOKING IN MY WINDOW

Wow. Yes, I Will Marry You.

Just "trying" to "help".

Maybe you'd prefer singing "Jingle Bell Rock" to yourself, in your head, until you die.

I wish I knew. I think it has something to do with not waking up next to MDDG every morning, but who can tell for sure?

Fortunately, I only figuratively drank out of one of those batman glasses last night. Therefore I will only figuratively die horribly.