Quote:
" Uncle Al, what is retirement?
Al " Retirement is when Woman marries, and Man dies"
Quote:
Al "Kelly turn the car on."
Bud "Maybe you should tell her to use the key before she starts rubbing the car"
Al "Bud, you sister isn't that dumb. Pumpkin use the key."
Quote:
Hooters, hooters
yum yum yum
Hooters, hooters
on a girl that's dumb.
Quote:
Marcy: But unlike Evolution, I'm not letting you off the hook Al. Now can you tell me what a woman's body has to do with selling beer?
Al: All right, number one - if it wasn't for beer, there would be at least three people, who probably wouldn't be married - Me, Jefferson, and probably Lisa Marie Presley. Number two - since men buy beer, advertisers have to cater to what we want. And hold on to your corncob pipe - we like pretty women. Pretty women sell beer, ugly women sell tennis rackets. Pretty women - cars; ugly women - minivans. Pretty women make us buy beer, and ugly women make us *drink beer*.
Quote:
A skinny woman "olive oil"'s her way into the shoe store and asks me to find something to make her look sexy. I tell her it's gonna be a long time before someone that ugly comes and sits next to her.
Quote:
Al: So, we're having a new baby. The gods are on a roll, aren't they? Must've been playing another round of "Can you top this?" One started off, "We'll make him a shoe salesman." Then another said, "We'll give him a red-head." Then another one, probably a cruel, hungover god, said, "But let's have him be a mighty athlete in high school first so his fall will be all the greater."
Kelly: But the gods showed you they loved you when they gave you us.
Al: Yeah, give those gods a Miller. Will someone please tell me, how did this happen?
Quote:
“So you think I’m a loser? Just because I have a stinking job that I hate, a family that doesn’t respect me, a whole city that curses the day I was born? Well, that may mean ‘loser’ to you, but let me tell you something: Every morning when I wake up, I know it’s not going to get any better until I go back to sleep again. So I get up, have my watered down Tang and still-frozen Pop Tart, get in my car with no upholstery, no gas and six more payments to fight traffic just for the privilege of putting cheap shoes on the cloven hooves of people like you. I’ll never play football like I thought I would, I’ll never know the touch of a beautiful woman, and I’ll never again know the joy of driving without a bag on my head. But I’m not a loser. ‘Cause despite it all, me and every other guy who’ll never be what he wanted to be are still out there, being what we don’t wanna be, forty hours a week—for life. And the fact that I haven’t put a gun to my mouth, you pudding of a woman, makes me a winner!”
