Archives for category: B

I don’t care if you’re an alto, a soprano, a bass, a baritone, or a castrato — if this is all you can think to put on your vanity plate, you desperately need more to your personality. Stop singing and read something.

It’s the main reason I hold out hope of appearing on Oprah.

In New York, you can drive around with a plate like this, generally without incident. Meanwhile, just try the reverse.  Drive around Boston for a few days with a plate screaming ‘NEW YORK’.  You will get keyed.

At this point, the ironic nickname (“Tiny”, “Slim”, “Skinny”, etc.) is tired enough, but you know what’s just that much sadder?  The generic nickname with descriptive accuracy. “Kenny, we love you, and you’re big, but that’s about all the thought we’re willing to put into it. From now on, your name is ‘Big Kenny’. Or some shit like that. Whatever.”

Was the license plate really supposed to fool us all?

I’ll try. But don’t call me “9”.  I told you, Not while I’m at work, honey.

It seems to imply “Bug Server.” The man serves bugs. Cockroach is his master.

Nothing growls “tough guy” like a grown man who hunts birds.