Everyone told me I'd regret dropping out of college.

Ours is a legit album—it's still on iTunes, Rhapsody, Tidal, YouTube, etc.—but I did observe to my friends that I could've achieved the same fortune by farting into a tape recorder for thirty seconds.

I really just wanna see you guys exchange sweaty tongue action.

I made about $5,000 in Spotify royalties by playing my own band on mute nearly 24/7 before the service caught on and deleted our catalog and sent me an email to the effect of "Party's over, asshole." It was fun while it lasted.

You guys should make out.

I've never gotten him. The only sad Smiths I listen to are Elliott and Sam.

Except us unabridged gents.

Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart? Who holds the stars up in the sky? Is true love just once in a lifetime? Did the captain of the Titanic cry? Someday we'll know.

THE POWER OF FRIES COMPELS YOU

I've never gotten that joke.

I'd like to believe that.

I once participated in a similarly impromptu crowd singalong—to "Pike St./Park Slope." Afterward Sean Nelson said, "Wow, that was like my favorite thing that's ever happened!… Well, top fifty. It wasn't the light bulb, but—"

I once convinced my dad that Debra Messing had a one-woman show called Messing Herself.

"Because masturbation is superior."

Has anyone done the "coming and going at the same time" joke yet? If not, well, here.

Because masturbation is superior.

Does the C stand for what I think it does?

That's it, Wendy Burch, you're leaving.

Yes, we know now that Bob Hope isn't God.

'Sup.