Put it in the tickler file for next week.

They sent ashore for some Sing-Song girls, which, with the fellers that brought them, all night made the cabin thick with cigarettes and the stringing of a strum-strum.

You can help me figure out why a pro like you, who looks to've spent time in some serious places, is babysitting Charlie Pundo's nothingburger baby-raping turd of a son.

At work Mr. Burns spies Homer munching complacently on a donut and hisses that each donut Homer shoves into his fat face brings him one donut closer to the poisoned donut Mr. Burns has ordered thrown into the mix as a form of culinary Russian Roulette, only to learn from Smithers that the plant’s lawyers ultimately nixed the poisoned donut plan because “they consider it murder.”