I feel the need, the need for speed.

Donger's here for five hours, and he's got somebody. I live here my whole life, and I'm like a disease.

I'm not Josie Grossie anymore!

He's got a Band called Fuck Your Yankee Blue Jeans or something like that

Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.

That's the way Pop wanted it.

Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?

What the FUCK is PC Load Letter???

She liked to fuck.....hahahaha

Then this fool went off and had a party, and they all starting trying to pin a tail on me. Then they all got drunk, and started hitting me with sticks, yelling "Piñata! Piñata!" What the hell is a piñata, anyway?

I use my great IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear and how to hit three keggers before curfew.

I'm funny? Funny like a clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh? I'm here to fuckin' amuse you?

What's normal? Those damn Dawson's river kids, sleeping in each other's beds and whatnot?

-

Look kids, Big Ben!

Hey Butt-head, is it normal for the inside of your bunghole to itch?