Sometimes we have feelings and those feelings are best made into paper bags that I can light on fire. Green fire, because the bag is full of copper pipes of course. In the grand scheme of things, a magic pen, a lists of silent cardiac failures, we know that sturups. Bowl fish for tapering fine slap stick. Intercourse.
I'm sorry what? Why would you want to waste my time? That's my job, I'll be responsible for that, how did you get roped into wasting my time? Perhaps I should simply say, er, no. I'll let you figure that one out.
cobaltu's recent comments: