Frankenstein left his arms at the gun range.
Genre: Comedy
He loves. She loves. We love. You hate.
“I know you are but what’m I?” “Copycat.”
“Immature.” “I know you are but what’m I?”
Andy Aardvark added ample alliterative ailments almost always.
The sloth/turtle/snail race hasn’t ended yet.
“You missed that Pirate joke.”
“ARRRRRe you sure?”
He also believed in the god of candy.
“Just five more minutes,” Rip Van Winkle said.
She fought with her secretary over petty cash.
“Get-out-of-jail-free cards don’t work in our prison system.”
He shredded on his guitar far too literally.
The three-legged zombie dog fetched his own leg.
His macaroni art did not win her over.
The dishwasher came to life, asked for wages.
“Aren’t you the cwutest wittle ting?”
“No, Sir.”
“That nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Snitches get stitches.”
“Yeah, but canaries get berries!”
“An accountant’s dozen is everyone’s dozen, but you.”
James wore “the” suit to his birthday party.