I really do like Christmas.

That's such a sad story.

Say, I smell a story.

Yeah, yeah, a likely story.

That's the story of my life.

I'm trying to watch my stories.

I'm the ghost of Christmas yet to be.

Okay, here's the story in a clamshell.

I tell you this damn story every night.

I always love to scare them with that story.

We had a whirlwind romance, got married, the whole story forgotten.

That's just a little story I tell to make the children cry.

Aw, come on. It's a great story. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

Then she's dead. They cry... boo-hoo. We go home. End of story.

Remember, he did the same thing at the Christmas party when he came as Santa.

I better come up with a sweet little baby story, so they don't think I'm a raving psycho.

Blunt away.

The establishment you dropped your pants in, Mr. Peterson, has been under surveillance for some time now.

We know they've been selling counterfeit merchandise.

Everything from chronosync watches to Maine lobsters.