I want to buy a copy of Bonestorm. Here’s 99 cents.
You wish to purchase Bonestorm for 99 cents. Net profit to me, negative $59. Oh, oh please, take my $59. I don’t want it. It’s yours.
Eh, eh, eh — seeing as we are unfamiliar with sarcasm, I shall close the register at this point and state that 99 cents is the rental price.
Rose, I know this is a long shot, but did you take much acid during the sixties?
“Reverend Jim” Ignatowski : Pssssttt… what does the yellow light mean?
Bobby Wheeler : “Slow down.”
“Reverend Jim” Ignatowski : What… does… the… yellow… light… mean?
Bobby Wheeler : “Slow down”!
“Reverend Jim” Ignatowski : Whaaaat… dooooeeees… theeeee… yeeeel-looowwww… liiiiight… meeeeaaan?
Oh god I just ran that red light. Hey, can you pretend you’re having the baby again?
Storks don’t bring babies no more. They used to, years ago, but then they started making mistakes. Bringing 'em to the wrong houses and what not.
Storks don’t deliver babies anymore! If anyone finds out about this, I am dead meat!
A secret’s a secret.
No, Bianca, it really isn’t all right. She’s not doing this to ease your pain. She’s doing this to cover her own pathetic guilt. Isn’t that right, Babe? Isn’t that what you’re doing?
She’s not going to be loyal enough, and she certainly will not be strong enough to ease your pain or to fix you in all the ways that you are broken.
Ah darling, you look so serene and happy when you’re throwing knives.
Please! Half of our marriage was you with a knife.
This is bad. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t bury the wife in the backyard.
I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Angie kept my Sharper Image white-noise/aromatherapy machine. She knows I can’t sleep without the sound of the ocean and the smell of bacon.
Wake up and smell the testosterone! Our son is out of control!
AAAAL-vin!
We didn’t catch any fish, but Larry and I saw a man slip on a wet rock and heard everything he said.
I’m Larry. This is my brother, Darryl. This is my other brother, Darryl.
I see you’ve met my brother… Niles.
Mother always like you best!
You know, Jill, if whining and complaining was an Olympic sport, you’d already have several gold medals.