…to be fair…

It’s a hard life picking stones and pulin’ teats, but as sure as God’s got sandals, it beats fightin’ dudes with treasure trails.

You wanna come to a super soft birthday party?

You knew your pal had come into money when he started throwing out perfectly good pistachios like he was above cracking ‘em open with a box cutter like the rest of us.

Call me a cake, ‘cause I’ll go straight to your ass, cowboy!

You wish there was a pied piper for possums. But there isn’t, so you’re just gonna have to keep picking ‘em off with a .22.

Pitter-patter, let’s get at ‘er.

If I was a Dr. Seuss book, I’d be The Fat in the Hat.

We only got one shot at this. One chance. One win. You know? Vomit on your mom’s spaghetti, or whatever that talking singer says.

You naturally care for a companionship, but I guess there’s a lot worse things than playing a little one man couch hockey in the dark.