Category: Verbal Assassinations

Not so fast, there, Bob. You forgot to affix the warning label to your forehead. You know, the one that reads Exposure to Bob Kelso can be hazardous to your health” thus affording the reader a fighting chance to escape the waste and contamination that is…Bob Kelso.”

Look, I honestly don’t think that going to some dive bar is necessarily appropriate for somebody who just had kidney surgery. Although, don’t get me wrong, the fact that it seems to be pissing you off so much is the true definition of an added perk. Seriously, you can – you can look it up in the dictionary. It’s under P” for “perk”. It’s right next to “pain in the ass” and, curiously enough, your picture is right next to it.”

It’s not a rabbit in a hat. If you tug on it, it’s going to break; and if it breaks, he’s going to need surgery; and if you perform it, then, of course, he’s going to need a casket. Sooo, why don’t you just play quietly in your area until the crowd arrives.

Look! I know the only thing you’ve ever been responsible for was picking which Duran Duran cover band would play at your sorority formal, but you’re supposed to be teaching these kids. So how’s about you learn how to walk, ditch the tape recorder, and act like you got a pair!

(…)The tick-tocking of your biological clock leading you towards the corner of Celibate and Spinster Way?

Oh, my goodness. He actually tricked you into a date. This is so very
delicious and filling I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat the rest of
the evening. In fact, I honestly don’t think I can have one more bite of
your painful humiliation. I find I’m just a little stuffed. Will take my
keys to go, though.

You, my friend, look so damn leathery I’m honestly tempted to wrap ya around a baseball, synch ya up with a belt, and stick ya under my mattress so that you’re good and broken in for the big game on Sunday. Buut, since I’m here to heal not judge, I’m gonna go ahead and write you a couple of prescriptions. You’ll find that this first one is for an extra large mallet to help ya pound some sense into yourself. The second one is for a big floppy hat that you’re now to wear every single time ya leave the house. Have a great day, ya look like a purse!

I’d focus, because that tiny patch of skin on my son’s forehead is more important to me than the entirety of your whole high-fiving, head-shaving, air-balling, mole-lipping, insulin-needing existence, which I guarantee you will come to an abrupt very unnatural end.

Back off there, lady. How’s about you save up all that energy for the cruise? Go on get out of here. Hippity hop to the barbershop. Come on, Mom.

And on behalf of men everywhere — and I do mean everywhere, including the ones in the little mud huts – let me be the first to say thanks and alleluia!