Let’s get you out of those wet clothes... and into a dry martini.

The Jackson 5. BOOM!

I’ve heard drunk guys* slurring to an annoyed woman at a bar make more sense, indeed a more compelling argument than this.

Me. Me, me me. I. Me. Myself, I, and also me. Most importantly, me.

What are the odds that he could name five more black people, living or deceased?