Every time I go out into the mountains I look around & try to find a potentially bare mountain that I could roll down.
Because it would be AWESOME.
*JAMMING OUT TO PITCH PERFECT SONGS*
Here, honey, have a Fig Newton.
They're not called Fig Newtons. They're called Pig Newtons!
No they're not. They're called Fig Newtons.
NO. YOU DON'T KNOW. YOU DON'T KNOW. THEY'RE CALLED PIG NEWTONS!
REALLY? I DON'T KNOW? I DON'T KNOW. DUDE, I'M NOT EVEN USING MY MEMORY RIGHT NOW. I'M READING THE FUCKING BOX THAT THIS SHIT CAME OUT OF. IT SAYS IT. WHERE ARE YOU GETTING YOUR INFORMATION? HOW DO YOU FUCK WITH ME ON THIS? YOU'RE THREE, AND I'M FOURTY-ONE. WHAT ARE THE ODDS THAT YOU'RE RIGHT AND I'M WRONG? WHAT ARE THE SHEER ODDS OF THAT? AND TAKE A BITE OF THE COOKIE, DOES IT TASTE LIKE A PORK COOKIE, MOTHERFUCKER? I DON'T THINK SO. WHY WOULD THEY CALL IT A PIG NEWTON? OH WHAT, IT TASTES LIKE FIGS? FUCKING INTERESTING THAT, ISN'T IT?