Anns Decision

I'm gonna get 12 eggs and part of a dead animal. Dealer's choice. Please and thank you.

I will have catfish and grits, with pumpernickel toast.

Now I have two best friends, Ann and Ann. Each one more beautiful than the other.

Which Ann is screaming like a maniac? Oatmeal Ann or catfish Ann? I'm not sure, because I instantly blacked out from extreme terror.

You know what? I probably shouldn't come. I'll embarrass the both of you.

But you are so brilliant and kind and stupid hot.

If she were dating a guy for six weeks, and they decided to have a kid, I'd be like, 'Congratulations, Ann... And Channing Tatum.' Because that is the only scenario that would make sense to me.

What a gorgeous herbaceous medley. There's been a mistake. You've accidentally given me the food that my food eats.

Is a gerbil marrying a rabbit?

Tom considers himself a foodie, which apparently means taking instagrams of food instead of eating it.

Number two's was subtle and provocative, like a coy Dutch woman guarding a dark secret.

Number three's told a story-- a story from a book I wouldn't read but I would watch the movie of.

Delicate little dough pocket filled with tomato sauce, cheese, and seasoned meat. Just a stunning culinary innovation. It was a calzone. It was literally just a small calzone.

No. Tragically, we are both heterosexual.

Some sperm. I meant in terms of a donor? Oh, you know, nice guy... Nice sperm.

So did the Unabomber... Yeah, so did Lance Armstrong, and he turned out to be a lying drug user. Or a hero. I don't know where we stand on him now.

Whoa, Sewage Joe... He is the gentleman who was fired for emailing a picture of his penis to every woman in city hall. Guilty. Yeah, that's what the judge said.

Free money, free porn. Best job I ever had. Also... If you're looking to buy some weed, I'm looking as well.

You realize you've said that about all of them? Well, she has, every single time. 'Cause she is super hot. Honestly, you'd look hot naked.

This suit makes me want to scold a Catholic child.

I don't know who Ann Taylor is, but I hate her and I want to kill her.

She had the patch sewn in. You can't remove it. What's in the pocket, you ask? A ticket stub from a Fleetwood Mac concert in 1995

So tomorrow, I lead a public forum in Leslie's Fleetwood Mac sex pants.

Fleetwood Mac Sex Pants. New band name. I call it. Ooh, you know what? Maybe just Fleetwood Mac.

Sperm that is worthy of your perfect eggs does not grow on trees.

his favorite season of Friends, whether or not he hates jazz-- hopefully, he does.

In this case, the body is Ann's, and the woman in charge of it is me.

like Knuckle-hair Dave from HR. I don't mind the knuckle hair. I just think he's a dick.

Small office. Mine's way bigger... The seats in my office are leather.

Guy's got a spinal fracture. He's not going anywhere.

I'm dying. I was dying earlier today. And then I died. Now I'm dead.

I cracked the bottom of the toilet bowl.

I have voided more than Tom's body weight in the last 12 hours alone. He might have just disappeared off the earth.

As Eleanor Roosevelt once said to Betty Ford... 'Hillary Clinton is great.'

Friendship bands that I've made for each and every one of you. So now, I guess we're Park Pals.

You should see the booger under this chair.

I see what's going on here. You want my sperm. When will women in this town stop scheming to get my sperm?

That son of a bitch is astute.

Oh, whoa! Smells like some vomit took a dump in here.

I didn't eat those stupid mini-calzones. Haver-food rule number six-- never eat anything with a sauce I have to dip myself. Drizzle it on for me. I'm not your maid.

The calzones... betrayed me? Never again, guys. As God as my witness, they're dead to me.

Is this gonna be a topless park? I don't think there are topless parks. Well, let's build the first one and be heroes.

Topless park! Topless park!

Actually, a farting immigrant segment would be really funny. Ay dios... Good looking out, Leslie.

I'm gonna scan a quick pic of them boobies for a little deposit in 'El banco de spanko.'

Well, frankly, I don't think it's for you to decide.

And if we had a boy, I don't know, I'd name him something funny, like 'Dick' or 'O. J.'

So, Crazy Ira, remember that chick Ann I used to... Yeah, she was smoking hot! Turns out, she wants to have my baby.

Oh, no, no, no. I just wanted to toss my name into the ring, in respect to this Indian woman's vagina.

'Me so horny.' That was not me. That was a farcical sound effect.

The fartsicle. Frozen farts you can eat. Put it in your face-mouth! It's cold and it smells. God, how did you make that so fast?

Fine, I will stand there for one second and say it, and then we're done. Fair's fair. Somebody get me a pudding pop.

Rudy. There, happy? No, say it like Bill Cosby. Rudy.

This bag is full of Fruit Roll-Ups and baseball cards.

Look, you won't have to pay any extra money, okay? And don't ever call me 'ma'am' again.

Nobody wants your creepy stoner eyes staring at them while they're enjoying a park, okay? Stop being gross.

Shut me down! You scare me, and I gotta say, I kinda dig that.

Besides, what is more cuter-us than your uterus?

Let's make a baby together. You should phrase that differently.

I wanted to bone her right there in that dirty church basement.

Well, frankly, you should have thought of that before we burned it.