Guiltittering?

#Whovianproblems

Why is he not my grandpa? (*clubs actual grandpa in the back of the head*)

The original show-runners of The Simpsons didn't do as well as, say, David Mirkin (who did seasons 5 and 6). I'm not sure if that counts, though, as Markin wasn't the creator.

It being True Detective, the doritos should be Skoal-flavored.

Ow, you dropped the mic on my foot!

They have a huge turnout, if you include bears.

It was the hour of the limping capon, and Cersei broke her fast with moon tea and lamprey oozings. She quaffed her sour Dornish wine and sent for Tyrion and Varys. Varys arrived first, padding simperingly and giving off the faintest whiff of talcum, which he used because he has no balls. "Your Grace summoned me?"…

Their sigil is a knish, pierced by an arrow through the centre, proper.

That's just fantastic, OldeFortran77.

He had his Red Rascal scooter converted to run on hot pockets. Like Jesus.

Oh? (*crosses Dellarigg's name off of list entitled "Possible Railroad-Building Suspects"*)

I'd say turd sandwich.

How dare you, sir? I challenge you to a competitive cheese rolling! The winner shall be awarded the fabled Golden Ascot, which the other shall have to kiss (tenderly, tenderly).

They're there, it's just that so far none of the action has taken place in Schlagos.

Basement-dwelling fantasy geeks HATE him!

Actually, dude, "Englishman" is not the preferred nomenclature. England-Living-English-Person, please.

Hey, he's got a lot of variety! Varys can pad OR simper!

Could I just fuck your mouth instead?

Referring to him as Goldlatt would definitely be the icing on the death cake.