Reminds me of a flashback scene in Better Off Ted. Except there were two people on the desk.

The hero Michigan needs is a person with a huge bank account, a great big snowplow, and a paving company with time on its hands.

You mean "livid" novelists, I assume.

Wow! You really have green deer like that? Excuse me. Honey! I have to go to Florida, quick-like. Where'd I put the Ruger?

Good Friend Chinese and Seafood: With Friends Like Us, You Not Need Enemies.

So Private Smith has just been chewed out and had his butt kicked for the fourteenth time by Sargent Jones. Jones (trying to show a little self-deprecating humanity): Now, when I kick the bucket, I'll bet you piss on my grave, right, troop? Smith: Sir, no Sir! Jones: What? How come? Smith: Sir, because when I get of the Army, I'll never stand in line again, Sir. Old, but poignant, with notes of sarcasm.

I love picture number one. Poke, poke. Get up! You get up now! Poke. Drill over! Wake up, honorable silly coworker! Poke, poke.

Oh, way, way different. Apparently.

Steve - Hawking says no, it wouldn't. Or at least that's what we think he said. This week, that is.

I don't know. Point it the other way, and you've got yourself a great ram.

Jeez, what if them infants had got hold of that bass?

I don't have a brother in Chennai or anywhere else, actually, but there is a sister, and if had been her, I'd have been ok with the elephant thing.

HMO? I meant HOA.

My Aunt always used to say: Up the long ladder and down the short rope. To hell with King Billy and long live the Pope! But that was the Kerry side of the family.

When I was in Chennai, a guy who claimed to be a refugee from Kashmir kept accosting me in the hotel and trying to sell me carpets. I complained to the Raja, and he was going to have the guy trampled by elephants, but I asked him to be merciful, so they only sold him into slavery at a software company. Ok, so I made part of that up. But which part?

So the flute was condemned And its fate was pathetic. It was sentenced to burn At the stake as heretic. As the flames rose around it They heard a strange noise. T'was the auld flute still whistlin' The Protestant Boys. It's been three hundred years And by that you can judge That there's none like the Irish For holdin' a grudge. Now for me next song, I'll be givin' ye The Auld Orange Guitar.

Good morning, Sir. How may I help you? Oh, just a fifth of Filthy Woman, please. I'm sorry, we're just out. How about a nice bottle of Wretched Little Child? Or Idiot Bastard Son? No, I think I'll just have a Burning Heretic. Ah, an abbey ale. Good choice.

Frozen Chicken Attack is touring Italy with Bogus Marino.

"... Home of The Dons.” Oxford and Cambridge are suing.

Ah, the English. Even their squabbling class is classier than the equivalent over here.

I used to listen to Bogus Marino all the time. They sounded kind of like Pussy Riot.

Damn autocorrect. Won't let misspell something even when I'm trying to.

Privates are pirates who drive Priuses.

How about Christie and Ventura in 2016? The thug n' punchy show!

Well ... that was awkward. And while we're at it, does awkward seem to anyone else as though it's a directional reference, similar to southward? Of course, I can't really think of a sentence off hand that would need to speak of "toward the awk". Maybe if I go get coffee ...