Letterkenny

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.