 Death: My gender is a mystery, but this flavor isn't! |  E_B_A: "You bought a new car! Holy shit, Dad! You are totally getting laid tonight!" "Son, that's inappropriate. Your mother and I will make sweet love." |  Occupant: Now back to Glen Beck  TravisBickle: Janet Reno was so going to kill those assholes as LensCrafters. jack_routers: And Dr. Ruth was born!  TravisBickle: And now, back to A Very J. Edgar Hoover Thanksgiving  E_B_A: "Butter."  E_B_A: "Butter?" E_B_A: "BUTTER!" E_B_A: "BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER FUCKER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER BUTTER." JediClone: "Margarine!" "CUT!"  HanoverF: "No, the breasts dear, rub the butter on the breasts. You know, those things you don't have and never will."  HanoverF: "Turkey Good!"
I don't care if it's just the three of us, we need a kids table. E_B_A: "I'm thankful I survived that brush fire!" *GLANCES AT HORRIBLY MANGLED, BURNED FIST* "Except for when I have to write."  Jazzsoda: "Jesus. Either I've been dead for hours and rigor mortis has set in, or this is the worst morning wood eve- OH HI CAPPERS!" *gallery sobs in unison*  echostation: *Ronald farts, stinks like Egg McMuffins, dog comes running*  Reynard: "I'm working on a Happy Meal in a bottle! Want to see it, Horrible Freak of Nature?" *dog stars vacantly, exposed brain pulsates*  Generik: "You see? It's easy to torment the blind Chilly Willy in a bottle with just a stick dipped in lye... and it's hours of fun!" *Ronald gets bored after five minutes, drops bottle* "Fuck this, let's go smoke some crack."  Death: I typed the word clitoris into the search bar and it sent me to this. HanoverF: This shit again?! *Squirts mustard at TV to change channel*  TravisBickle: Oh? Think it's all fun and games now cappers? Well, soon I'll be animated like a Rugrats cartoon and then, you know what? Then, you're FUCKED, cappers! You hear me? FUCKED!!!  echostation: "Eh, it's a living."  Occupant: Faced with the great flood, Ronald gathered up two of every menu item and loaded them onto an ark. Luckily, the McRibs were a little late.  AgentQ: *faces melt*  Nyssa23: Wake and bake, Dollar Menunaires!  CrabofDoom: *readies for clown to pass by* *practices Five Finger Exploding Heart technique on self to prepare* *heart explodes* *roll credits*  JediClone: Even with a map, Ronald couldnt find the clitoris. Which wasnt really a problem, as he preffered to rape Fry Guys through the ears anyway. AgentQ: "Check it out. When I touch things my finger leaves a trail of dotted lines." "Um... does it erase? Because this map is 3,000 years old and kind of priceless." "It's like my fingertip is shitting. How cool is that?"  Death: Tales of the Black McFreighter  Reynard: This animated Seinfeld is weird.  E_B_A: "A hive full of angry bees in every Happy Meal? Seriously, Grimace. Go buy a fucking clue." "You're not seeing the bigger picture, Ron! See, we start with bees. Then hornets. Then wasps. Then scorpions!" "You're sick."  Generik: "It's just you and me against the world, herpes sore! Just you and me against the world!!" "But... I don't want to be against the world!" "Just you and me! Against the world!" *whimper*  Reynard: *pees Dr. Pepper on lady*  AgentQ: "You have failed, Ronald! For that you shall be spanked with a parrot, as is our custom!" "Failed? Failed at what? Who are you? I just got here-" "Silence! Bare your pasty white buttocks so that I may birdslap them!"  Occupant: The penalty for taking the grail from the temple was far more severe than even Indy imagined.  HanoverF: "Try not to backwash, I don't want to catch whatever makes you hang out with crazy clowns and shit."  MonsterGoGo: "Gee, I dunno Ronald why would anyone~" "Sh-sh-shh...don't speak." *runs his fingers across Grimace's lips* "Uhhhh~Ronald?" "I like the taste of purple. I want your purple in my mouth." "I am very purple."  E_B_A: Misery Science Theater 3000  HanoverF: "Boo! You call that a snuff film! Boo!" He's his own harshest critic. |
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