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“I grew up in St. Louis and went to school in New Jersey and have been in Brooklyn ever since, but, sure, I guess technically I’m ‘from’ the Black Lagoon.”
“Ice-age deniers.”
“You keep saying apocalyptic, but I think you mean post-apocalyptic.”
“Imagine yourself: driving up the coast, the top down, tears streaming down your face because your wife had no choice but to kick you out, this time for good.”
“We can’t cure it, but with enough social pressure, we can get it canceled.”
“I draw the line at flip-flop shares.”
“Just this once, can we not talk about news or politics or money or family or relationships or children or friends or sex or religion or sports or culture or real estate or the past or the future?”
“If you’ve eaten the grasshopper, then you’ve completely missed the point of my story.”
“He looks just like you.”
“I’d be no kind of Christian if I left a disabled guy and his sleepy friend out in the rain—hop in!”
“I swear to sell my book, my whole book, and nothing but my book.”
“No land women want me, so I’m off to try my hand in the sea.”
“If the cops stop us, we’re going to look pretty silly carrying a giant cannoli around the city this time of night.”
“And on that fateful night, Mr. Gregson, do you recall how many times Björn Borg won Wimbledon?”