I’m trying to ease my stomach pains. I’m moving my legs so my stomach won’t hurt. I’m kinda like Jesus, but not in a sacrilegious way.
I know I’m not normally a praying man, but if you’re up there: Please save me, Superman!
Somebody throw the goddamn bomb!
“Best before November 1959.” Dammit, Bob! There were plenty of brand new bombs, but you had to go for that retro '50s charm!
Meh, they’ll be chewin’ on him for a while.
I want some peanuts.
Please do not offer my god a peanut.
OK, here’s how the process works. You sit on the broom and we shove you off the cliff… well, hear me out. If you’re innocent, you will fall to an honorable Christian death. If you are, however, the bride of Satan, you will surely fly your broom to safety. At that point you will report back here for torture and beheading.
So “if” we get “deadlocked”, we’ll be “sequestered” at the Springfield Palace Hotel. Where we’ll get a free room, free food, free swimming pool, free HBO. Ooh. Free Willy.
Letter sign in front of the church: “Today’s sermon: Evil Women in History – from Jezebel to Janet Reno”
What’s the point of going out? We’re just gonna wind up back here anyway.
I reached Step One: She knew I existed.
And if that doesn’t work, six simple words: “I’m not gay, but I’ll learn.”
We work hard, and we play hard!
Dad, why’d you bring me to a gay steel mill?
What was her problem?
Solitude never hurt anyone. Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known…then went crazy as a loon.
Well nobody out-crazies Ophelia. Hey, nonny nonny, with a hoo and a haw, and a nonny nonny hey!
He’s right. Give us hell, Qwimby!
Yeah, that’s hellfire all right.