1. Wrong. They're the ones doing all the multiplying, and now they're expanding their range. They're not happy with traumatizing us as young children in insidious tales involving porridge and beds. Oh no. They're infiltrating Hollywood. I have proof. Scared? You should be. I am.
2. If they're not shiny composite material made to resemble gold by underpaid workers in the Philippines, I'm not interested.
3. If that had come from anyone else, I wouldn't believe it. Satan's one hell of a multitasker, I'll give him that. But it explains that persistent brimstone aftertaste.
4. And I say that time is now, unless they're going to suddenly decide to get off their apple pancake backsides and help us invade Iran. I'm paying for their inactivity. Get productive or get six feet under, seniors. The free ride's over.
5. I don't stuff my underpants, and I wouldn't use pumpkins. I don't need to. In fact, I need a team of specially hired dwarves to help me lift my balls into their support harness in the morning, they're so damned huge.
Someone had to make that vortex, and I'll find out which of those socialist scum did it. I'm tenacious like a tenacious thing, and this place is about as much fun as a congressional subpoena.