That's the story of my life.

Here are my demands.

Composing always works up my appetite.

There goes my one good lung.

My old friend, Irma Jane Cooley.

Irma, oh Irma, you are my girlfriend.

I got my lodge meeting at seven.

Oh no, my grossly misinformed friend, no.

Oh, God, she doesn't even know my name.

You know how tear gas stinks up my meat?

Oh, for the love of my officers, please believe her!

I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind.

Well, now let me get off my high horse here and hand the reins over, as it were, to my lovely bareback rider.

Keep her out of my tub or you're a dead man.

Well, Chris, whatever my middle name is, Peterson, has a plan.

I am only too anxious to begin my life anew as a productive member of society.

You, sir, are the most exquisite creature my puny mortal eyes have ever beheld.

This might be a good time for me to debut my little love song that I wrote.

Oh, honey, did you get me that sack of horse manure that I have my eye on?

And what better way than to help my fellow citizens, especially the elderly and infirm, with their checkbooks, retirement plans, and monthly budgets.