Trillaphon: "Alright...who ordered the fucking special?!"
Hydrogen: That guy has a velcro bib that looks like a wifebeater, so he can tear it off repeatedly during fights without having to waste all his money on shirts.
Trillaphon: He's the Edison of our time. We're going to make a fortune when we launch ShirtBib.com.
Hydrogen: This place is like the shitty redneck dive bar from Roadhouse, except in this town the bouncers grab all the scum and throw them into the building.
Trillaphon: I wonder if he rips off that bib when he goes into Red Lobster so that he can put on the lobster bib instead, or if he puts the lobster one over it to keep from getting schmutz on it. Or maybe he just stands there flexing while the wait staff anoint his muscles in clarified butter and slide him back and forth between the kitchen and dining room like a greased up crabeater seal with bus trays all over his back.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
U2 and Apple have conspired to place a U2 album into your music in the year 2014. You own a U2 album. And you can't get rid of it.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
Something Awful reviews the absolute worst movies out there. We focus mostly on horror and science fiction, because all writers here on Something Awful are huge nerds.