Not one single dinosaur in Oppenheimer.
When a movie has an exorcist, some demons are in for a bad time, but not at first.
A good rule is to check the recall list before opening a bag of romaine lettuce. Check it again after making the salad. Check once more tableside.
“We’ve got company.” Unwelcome news in a car chase. Scarcely better on your front porch.
It’s the best dill pickle ever, but the restaurant won’t tell me what kind it is. To what lengths will I go to find out? None.
I can’t tackle you with a fire suppression blanket unless I practice.
As per my baby book, I held my head up alone the first day I got home. I may be a lot of things, but I was no soft-necked baby.
Jurassic Park taught me not to exploit dinosaur labor.
Thirty years ago, Jurassic Park gave me hope I might live long enough to see resurrected dinosaurs. The clock’s ticking.
The danger of me asking why people don’t like Taylor Swift’s new boyfriend is that someone might tell me.
Your neighbor is a sleeper agent, but not from one of the serious countries.
Now that the coronation is over, perhaps King Charles will respond to my proposal for a noble quest.
So many flashing lights and alarms on the new refrigerator. I think it might be a first responder.
I’d like a word with the person who started the rumor that I have a kitchen.
Today, I want to talk about petting a cat with wet hands and why that’s no good for your hands or the cat.