Looking at that tired old freak has made me realize I’m no spring chicken myself. I can feel death’s clammy hand on my shoulder... wait, that’s my hand.— Grampa
Looking at that tired old freak has made me realize I’m no spring chicken myself. I can feel death’s clammy hand on my shoulder... wait, that’s my hand.— Grampa
Marge: How did someone so sensitive end up here?
Jack: Well, if you really gotta know... I shot a guy named Apu.
Marge: Oh. Well, you know lots of people shoot Apu. It's just a hundred dollar fine now.
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