Thursday, April 21, 2011

No skin off my butt


Here we are. You guys sould become fast friends. Anyway, I think I'm late for supper and I'm famished. These ladyfingers don't have any meat on them at all.


Were those St. Anne's fingers?


Sir, my name is Bramwell B. Bramwell, Esquire.


Very nice.


What does the B. stand for?


Bramwell, of course.


Knew it!


And the Esquire? Is that some sort of title, dude?

Yes. Yes it is.


And a very elegant and pretentious one at that.


Bitchin'! I love titles. My name is St. Charles of Malibu, Rockstar. ... Is it O.K. with you, Squire, that I said "St." and not "Saint."


No skin off my butt, gentlemen. I'm due upstairs for the group photo.


Do you believe that tool? Not one drop of tiger blood in him.

He is somewhat persnickety ... and objectionable in every way. Remind me to kill him, would you?


Bitchin'! I'd have done it myself if I weren't a disembodied head.


We all have our crosses to bear, my friend. ... Tell me, what do you know of the Great White Crow?

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