"Ugh! You lucky slut! Is that, like, better than Prime??"
King flirted with our 25-year-old interviewer and already has a date with her. “No doubt I’ll outlive my eighth, ninth, and tenth wives!” And number eleven? Informed sources confirm she’s just been born, and in eighteen years, will marry the 103-year-old King.
"Those were, undoubtedly, the good old seconds.”
Sure, you’re losing several quarts of blood a minute, but this is not all about you. Perhaps if you bothered to learn that your crazed interlocutor was mercilessly teased by the other cubs because his fur was “different,” you’d have a more empathetic perspective on the whole situation.
"I could just tell that they were going to go off to some basement drug and orgy party and do it there while the kid's parents were out of town, so I insisted their first time be in the back seat of my BMW while I was driving. This way, I could check that no funny business was happening, and that she'd be home at a reasonable hour. I am not ready to be a grandma."
"I was so obviously saying it just to make him stop bothering me for five seconds with his Tweets."
"We already know that you don't like being beaten with billy clubs, or getting stomped in the chest by our horses, so we're running out of options."
“My girl could go an entire month without showering and I’d still eat her ass over a slice of Hawaiian pizza any day of the week.”
Bobby was fine when I was a young, bright thing in the 1920s, but I'm more mature now, and it's time that I learn to speak up for myself. The name is Robert. Not Bobby. Not Robby. Robert.