I don't wanna ever catch you being a racist. This is not to say, you know, you have license to bring R. Kelly home for dinner.

He was ten-speeding a gazillion miles per hour through Central Park. You know, racing with all the other young Turks. When, all of a sudden he caught a glimpse of himself in the handlebar mirror and became so... aroused by it that he burst his Speedo shorts which then got caught in the gears and threw him right on his face. Splatter.

Three tomatoes are walking down the street- a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, Catch up.

Someone has been pissing on my Gamecube and I'm about to close the case.

Ah-ah-eh-uhm-hm... I'm sorry, too, Dmitri... I'm very sorry... Alright, you're sorrier than I am, but I am as sorry as well... I am as sorry as you are, Dmitri! Don't say that you're more sorry than I am, because I'm capable of being just as sorry as you are... So we're both sorry, all right?... All right.

We're no longer called Sonic Death Monkey. We're on the verge of becoming Kathleen Turner Overdrive, but just for tonight, we are Barry Jive and his Uptown Five.