Sometimes when Jon opens a Snickers Bar and passes it to me I feel as naughty as if he were passing me a joint. There’s just no difference, except one makes me high, and the other one makes me paranoid.
I used to like Led Zeppelin.
Blondes have it better than septic tank poopy reds.
Styrofoam cups change the taste of gin martinis.
If I had enough money to be on MTV’s Cribs, I’d have an entire room covered in blubble-wrap, with bubble-wrap area rugs and a bubble-wrap recliner, and I’d walk around stylin in my bubble-wrap bling.
I’d totally believe in a Heavenly Father if Missy Elliot could be the Heavenly Mother.
Citrucel tastes better than Metamucil.
How many times do I have to go over this? When I ask if you would please get me a Coke, you’re supposed to ask me what kind of Coke, because I could mean a Sprite or a Dr. Pepper, you Yankee.
Pride is what you had, baby girl, I am what you have.