“Good morrow to thee, jolly fellow,” quoth Robin, “thou seemest happy this merry morn.” ¶ “Ay, that am I,” quoth the jolly Butcher, “and why should I not be so? Am I not hale in wind and limb? Have I not the bonniest lass in all Nottinghamshire? And lastly, am I not to be married to her on Thursday next in sweet Locksley Town?”

The police caught you on CCTV, now you're really buggered.

I'd like to see someone pie the chairman of the board.

There an assistant D.A., a thirtyish young man sporting Harry Potter spectacles and prematurely thinning hair, […]