The Pothole

Baking soda, annoying little product. 'I can do this, I can do that.' Why doesn't the stuff just shut up?

How many years of med school did you have?

Finicky? Prissy? Fastidious? I'll take 'fastidious.'

Do they have to squeeze his head to get him to say 'Holy cow'?

Well, I was drafting behind a semi. I didn't wanna lose him.

The infrastructure, Jerry, it's crumbling.

This supreme flounder, it says 'First time served in America.' Is that true?

If we deliver to you, then what? 85th Street? Wall Street? Mexico? 84th Street?

Well, I'm a papa.

Oh, looks just like you.

I don't have a spare set. All my keys say 'do not duplicate.' So you can't duplicate them.

Sure you can. Such a sweet kid.

You know, this isn't fair. This is address discrimination.

When I'm through with her mouth, she'll be able to eat off it.

So I sat on that bench for a little while, 20 minutes or an hour...

Poor son of a bitch.

The engine's made by McDonnell Douglas. When the battery runs out.

That stuff tastes like bleach. I don't know anything about that.

Maybe if I could shrink myself down, like in Fantastic Voyage... and get inside a microscopic submarine, I could be sure. Although if there was something there, it might be pretty scary. Of course, I would have that laser.

And from disorder... you're a quirk or two away from full-on dementia.

Mile 114, clean as a whistle.

I just rolled them into the woods. Yeah, that stuff's all natural anyway.

Speed limit, 165 miles per hour. See? They slipped a one in there. Those kids with the spray paint, God love them.

If the real Phil Rizzuto was down there this wouldn't be happening.

I bruised my lip. I was drinking a Cel-Ray... and I brought it up too fast and I banged it into my lip. And then I knocked your toothbrush into the toilet. And I wasn't able to tell you before you could use it.

There. Now something of yours has been in the toilet.

Hello, Jenna? Did you dunk the spatula? Was it the spatula? Hello?

Are you just screwing with me? Yeah, I am.

Well, you black out lane lines one and three... and a four-lane highway becomes a two-lane comfort cruise.

It's better than eating it alone in the restaurant like some loser.

Newman uses his mail truck... to run fish for China Panda on the weekends.

Right, because... I'm the janitor.

Somebody screwed up on that one.

Oh, but you have a slop bucket.

Well, a lot of it is vegetables.

Steak knife?

Dirt? That's all right, because there's nothing wrong with dirt. Well, actually, it's pretty grimy. Grime, grease, filth, funk, ooze, whatever it is... you take that stuff and put it right on my leather upholstery.

Toilet brush.

Because I threw out all my dishes.

Holy cow.

Bugger.

Double bugger.

Oh, the humanity!

Man, did you see that fireball?