Nice.
“Shut up.”
Cleave, bro.
“I said–”
Anybody see Drew Carey? Cuz we’re in Cleave-land.
“–shut up.”
Yell “Kobe!” and chuck a grape in there.
“Dude, knock it off. This is very sexist.”
No, sexist would be saying her cleave couldn’t succeed in the STEM fields.
“Just stop talking.”
“Ja. Stop talking, mein liebchen. You become so ugly vhen you speak.”
“Oh, God, who is this now?”
“Vhat you are vearing ist unacceptable. You look like a fat gypsy fighting wiz a raccoon for a slice of pizza.”
“First off: offensive in many ways. Second: no, I do not.”
“Hide your neck! Ze neck ist ze shame of God!”
“What?”
“Paloma Picasso told me to tell you she hates you.”
“Why are you here?”
“I follow my muse. Is like your Bobby’s bliss, but not as American and stupid and smelly.”
“You’re a terrible snob.”
“DONTCHOO GO TALKIN’ BAD T’ COUNT DRACULA!”
“Ah, shit. Not him.”
“THEM’S SOME BIG SUNGLASSES, HOMBRE! AH DIG YOUR STYLE!”
“Mein Gott. Are zose rhinestones?”
“THEY TH’ RHINIEST STONES ‘VAILABLE, COUNT!”
“You are exquisite in your trashiness.”
“AH BET YOU TURN INTO TH’ FANCIEST BAT EVER, MAN.”
“fanciest bat ever”
That’s a line fit for the King.