I say hurl. If you blow chunks and she comes back, she's yours. If you spew and she bolts, then it was never meant to be.
advising Garth about his fear of vomiting if he talks to his dream girl
I mean, there are two Darren Stevens, right? Dick York and Dick Sargeant.Shyeah, right, as if we wouldn't notice. Oh, hold on! Dick York, Dick Sergeant, Sergeant York... Wow, that's weird.
I'll have the "cream of sum yung gai".
It will be mine. Oh, yes ó It will be mine.
She will be mine. Oh, yes ó she will be mine.
I once thought I had mono for an entire year. It turned out I was just really bored.
Ex-squeeze me? Baking powder?
Ah yes, it's a lot like 'Star Trek: The Next Generation'. In many ways it's superior but will never be as recognized as the original.
I know I don't have his looks. I know I don't have his money. I know I don't have his connections, his knowledge of fine wines. I know sometimes when I eat I get this clicking sound in my jaw...
What the hell's going on? I lost my show, I lost my best friend, I lost my girl. I'm being shit on, that's all, shit on, and you know what really pisses me off ó Wait, no, come on back.. OK, things aren't as bad as they seem... I'll figure somethin' out, OK?
Pardon me ó do you have any Grey Poupon?
No stairway? Denied!
A gun rack... a gun rack. Shyeah, Right! I don't even own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack. What am I gonna do... with a gun rack?
Hey Garth ó that was a haiku.
It's sucking my will to live!
Benjamin is nobody's friend. If Benjamin were an ice cream flavor, he'd be pralines and dick.
Did you ever see that 'Twilight Zone' where the guy signed a contract and they cut out his tongue and put it in a jar and it wouldn't die, it just grew and pulsated and gave birth to baby tongues? Pretty cool, huh?
Ribbed for her pleasure. Ewww.
That bass player's a babe. She makes me feel kinda funny, like when we used to climb the rope in gym class.
If she were a president, she'd be Baberaham Lincoln
Yes; I definitely smell a pork product of some type.
Okay... First I'll access the secret military spy satelite that is in geosynchronous orbit over the midwest. Then I'll ID the limo by the vanity plate "MR. BIGGG" and get his approximate position. Then I'll reposition the transmission dish on the remote truck to 17.32 degrees east, hit WESTAR-4 over the Atlantic, bounce the signal back into the aerosphere up to COMSAT-6, beam it back to SATCOM-2 transmitter number 137 and down on the dish on the back of Mr. Big's limo. It's almost too easy.
Let me tell you something about women, Wayne. They want you to come get them, they LOVE it.
I'm having a good time... not.