Monk: Are we building something?
I swear the girders weren’t here yesterday.
Thistle: Hm, don’t think so.
You don’t have any paint.
Monk: What’s paint got to do with it?
Thistle: Good question. Let me ask my thesaurus.
Says here a girder is like a beam.
Monk: Oh, well that changes everything.
What the hell is all this foliage doing on my part of the lawn? You didn’t understand our agreement, Fred. I specifically stated in our last town-hall meeting, and I quote: “Fred’s shrubs are a major pain in the ass and I’m going to chop them down with my blunt, rusty hatchet”. I mean what I said, Fred. You’ll find, if you haven’t already, that I am a man of my word. Now I’ll ask you one more time, just as nice as before, to banish your plants from my premises. It’s a request so simple that a chimp could comply.
Go do it yourself, college boy.
π: You’re a funny kid, kid.
ø: You’re a funny kid, kid.
π: Stop copying me.
ø: Stop copying me.
π: I’ll stop copying you if you tell me your favorite song.
ø: Yellow Submarine.
π: Yellow Submarine.
ø: Stop copying me.
π: Stop copying me.
§: Turmeric is my favorite spice.
ª: That’s lovely. Can I have my coffee now?
©: However you may approach this situation, I assure you my hamster ball will not interfere.
ß: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Never with a hamster ball, but the scenario has definitely presented itself in one form or another over the years.
©: Like what? Emotional distress?
ß: Occasionally. It has also manifested itself as hypochondria, rabies, testicular cancer, octopus ink, test-tube babies (twice), and a whole slew of times I was told that granola bars were none of my business.
©: Wow, that’s harsh. Granola bars should be everybody’s business.
ß: Yeah, I quit that job after two weeks.
Tell me you’ve got something better than that.
You don’t?
Well, what do I have to do to furnish this apartment?
You’re turning my Sunday into a joke.
Don’t you understand the necessity of professional moving companies?
No, don’t give me that. These guys are bush league.
A mover in his prime has six years in the minors under his belt
before he so much as touches a corrugated box.
No, forget it. Do you see how Blue Cap Guy over here lifts with his back?
Bush league.
X: Who do I want as my wingman?
O: Ooh! Pick me!
X: And why are you suitable for this prestigious post?
O: Don’t you see my wings, dude? Chicks LOVE ’em.
X: Of course chicks love wings; they have little stubby ones and wish they could just grow up and get their feathers already.
O: I meant girls.
X: Oh… all right, let’s give this a shot.
WHARVED 