Well, she got that magna cum laude pussy on her that done fried up your brain!
Last night, Darth Vader came down from Planet Vulcan and told me that if I didn’t ask Lorraine out to the dance, that he’d melt my brain!
I saw Bigfoot once! Sequoia National Forest, 1951! It made a sound that I would not want to hear twice in my life.
Sir, the impossible scenario we never planned for? Well, we better come up with a plan.
Plan 9? Ah, yes. Plan 9 deals with the resurrection of the dead. Long distance electrodes shot into the pineal and pituitary gland of the recently dead.
“What is ‘dead’?”
“Sleeping… sleeping forever. One day we go to sleep and we don’t wake up.”
“I don’t think I could sleep that long.”
Will I dream?
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
Well, the universe is everything, and if it’s expanding, someday it will break apart and that would be the end of everything!
I know this great restaurant at the end of the universe.
He’s dead. They stuffed him with pages torn from his favourite book. Could you cook him?
If no one’s in the kitchen, who’s to see?
Now I stuff you with bread; it don’t hurt, 'cuz you’re dead, and you’re certainly lucky, you are!
(Enter TITUS dressed like a Cook…TITUS places the dishes on the table)
TITUS ANDRONICUS:…welcome, all: although the cheer be poor,
'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.
SATURNINUS: Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?
TITUS ANDRONICUS: Because I would be sure to have all well,
To entertain your highness and your empress.
[…]
Will’t please you eat? will’t please your
highness feed?
TAMORA: Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?
TITUS ANDRONICUS: Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius:
They ravish’d her, and cut away her tongue;
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.
SATURNINUS: Go fetch them hither to us presently.
TITUS ANDRONICUS: Why, there they are both, baked in that pie;
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
When did eating dinner become a Broadway show?
“Ma chere Mademoiselle, it is with deepest pride
And greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight
And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair
As the dining room proudly presents
Your dinner!”
Bad table manners, my dear Gigi, have broken up more households than infidelity.
May I have the salt?
What do we say?
NOW.
Elbows off the table, napkins in your lap.
Oh, Jesus. Don’t ask questions like that up in wine country. They’ll think you’re some kind of dumbshit, OK?