We’re in the back because we’re rejects, not good enough for the bake sale. Doesn’t she know what this does to a cookie’s self-esteem? I’m so depressed.
The woman who wrapped us at the factory said that we would be lovingly used for food. She probably says that to all the bowls. Clearly, we’re going to be dirty-water catch basins. I’m going to report that woman.
No, that’s a fine approximation of a haunted tree, Godfrey. The reason I’m not scared out of my mind is that it’s 10:00 a.m.
That’s the last time I buy a ticket to the Kentucky Derby on craigslist. How could I know that the tickets aren’t red this year?
Old MacDonald had a pig. My current condition is a scathing indictment on what happened next.