I’m getting a really clear image of a flaming dumpster here….
There better be Starbucks in that drinking horn.
Genevieve’s desperate plea for help while Cecil is trying his best to mansplain the joust to her.
No Joe, you may not be of service; I know love means nothing to you.
Well, well, well, now it’s Judy’s turn to cry.
Michelle regrets her choice of dermatologists. But you have to hand it to him, he’s thorough.
His nephew, who had no interest in fishing, kept hanging around; Uncle Nesbit kept thinking, “What’s his angle?”
Actually, she’s barley making ends wheat.
“My name is Gorton, and I’d like to know which one of you ladies is Mrs. Paul.”
Well, it did take Hank years to get the ball rolling, after all.