First of all, late-life ‘revelations’ of Jewish heritage are increasingly rare, and typically restricted to public servants staring down a rocky Senate confirmation hearing. Yeah. Those people. They tend to find Jewish roots faster than Nazi guard dogs or Mormon-conversion research teams.
I have an intern to handle that.
Because you’re a furry mascot, Grimace. The only sex organs permitted at McDonald’s come mixed into the chicken McNuggets.
That actually happens to me more often than you might imagine. My standard response: removing my shirt and starting to wax lyrical about my days as a cop trainee back in Texas. They typically let me off with a hand-job and a warning.
What do I look like, a state senator?
They’re scheduled to launch a new hotel this fall called Vollmer: it’s for pierced cycling enthusiast Ivy League grads only. You either qualify prima facie, or you have a great deal of preparatory work left to do.
Chants are for homophobic college football fans tailgating in Klan Kountry. Go old school. Act like a rabid audience member on the Arsenio Hall show, coupling intestinal grunts with circular fist gestures. It makes dwellers of the Ivory Tower shudder in fear. (And disgust, but fear more importantly.)
It’s best not to double dip unless condoms and contracts are involved.
Yanni just isn’t what he used to be. Richard Marx is the way to go.