Friday, December 12, 2008

Luxuriate yourself in our unparalleled food that satisfies every craving.

I WISH WISH WISH I was creative enough to have written this in jest, but it is real. My friend Doug passed this along to me because he knows how I appreciate this kind of thing. It is an excerpt from the website of a bar (Chill Bar) in greater Northeast Philadelphia.

Northeast Philadelphia. If you ever wonder why I hightailed it out of Philly as soon as UPenn decided to kill a sheep and make me a diploma, a small study of Northeast Philadelphia would help you understand. No offense to everyone I grew up with. (although, if you ever ask me, I will tell you I grew up in the lower northeast- which is true. Pretty close to North Philly- not because I want to be from North Philly- I just really want to not be from Northeast Philadelphia.) To be fair though, it's a place chock full of great memories, family, and friends I love dearly. You are the exception. Everyone I know is the exception.

I might elaborate someday, but for now, just read this to paint the picture. It sounds like it was written by teenage girls doing a group project for a Hospitality class. I have bolded the parts which are amazing to me.

ABOUT CHILL BAR:

Coming to Chill is a must! Chill is an exclusive bar that provides a pleasurable, entertaining, sociable, and energy filled environment. Chill is a new venture untaken by Stuart Thomas and Troy Garr, long time partners of the popular Famous Deli. They wanted to create a lounge/bar scene that is one of a kind, while blending the intimate, feel-good environment that has made famous popular. Stuart and Troy attempt to create a business enterprise that combines the best of their diverse personalities. And they certainly succeeded! Chill offers a sophisticated and chic feel with its maple floors, attractive colors, waterfalls, and lavish dining with exceptional dishes. In tandem, Chill combines an unconventional concrete blue bar top, eccentric wall designs, inventive plate displays and sensual drinks. Chill is certainly innovative, as it embraces a classy relaxed surrounding, while generating a lively and invigorating atmosphere.

So be original, try something new, and come drink, mingle and experience the Chillaxation! Luxuriate yourself in our unparalleled food that satisfies every craving. Enjoy our large selection of ice cold draft and bottled beer. Relish in our tempting martinis, outrageous infusions and exquisite collection of fine.

Come watch the big game on our Hi-Def flat screen plasma TV's. Come Dance, Drink, and Laugh to our weekly After-Hours entertainment including live bands, DJ's, Comedians, and Karaoke! And finally, dine, mingle, and relax in a comfortable, smoke-free setting!

Dining and socializing has never been so classy, so elating, so refreshing and especially so CHILL!

Mission Statement:
Chill is an exclusive bar that provides a pleasurable, entertaining, sociable, and energy filled environment. We stand to uphold a sophisticated and lively atmosphere, and are committed to owning and operating the highest quality restaurant/ lounge bar. We strive to continually improve the experience for all of our customers and employees through continuous originality, inventiveness and teamwork.

http://www.chillbarandgrill.com/story.asp

(I feel compelled to add that I view NE Philly through the lens of an annoyed, frustrated teenager. Something about the place brings that part out of me. It actually might not be as bad as i remember it.)

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Monday, December 8, 2008

#79

I am not one of the great minds of my generation.
The thought,
like an errand checked off a list on the back of an envelope.
The ease of some runny eggs, ketchup, cold coffee.
A diner I’ll forget.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A 39-Year-Old Wedding Photographer Makes Her Pitch at the Ramada Inn Bridal Expo

(McSweeneys.net published this yesterday! -cn)

Hello! As you can see, I'm a professional wedding photographer; thanks so much for stopping at my booth. A little about me: I'm 39 years old, single, and I am ready to photograph your wedding!

Take a look at my work: I've got a unique eye and I create a visual journal of personal moments, like your vows, during which, as a professional, I assure you I will not sigh heavily.

I have 18 years of professional photography experience. I will take traditional posed photos as well as fun candid shots that capture the atmosphere of the day. I will not wear my shortest black leather skirt, continuously drop my lens cap near the groom, and then bend over seductively to pick it up. In fact, I always leave my lens cap at home so this doesn't happen!

I consistently rate among Brides magazine's "top 10" wedding photographers. That's a reputation you can count on. You can also count on the fact that I would never pay my cousin Phil to steal a kiss from the bride in a way that makes it look like she's totally into it, take a Polaroid, and then pull the groom aside before the ceremony and say, "I know it's not my place to say anything, but you need to see this ... I'm so sorry. Did you want to go for a walk or something?"

I'm a hometown girl! I graduated at the top of my class at Temple University in 1991, and returned two years later for a Master of Fine Arts degree.

Now, if I find that I do, in fact, need that lens cap, trust that I will not beg the groom to drive me to my apartment so I can get it, and then, once we're there, convince him to help me look for my lens cap in my new deluxe shower.

I will make you a DVD slideshow of your photos set to your favorite love songs!
Once in the shower, frantically searching for my lens cap, I will not block the shower door, turn on the warm water, and say, "Whoops, I just remembered ... That lens cap is hidden somewhere on my soft, fertile, supple body, a body that needs and deserves love just like anybody else ... in fact, just like your bride does ... Oh God, what have I become?," and then reach over, unlock the shower door, and scream, "Go to her!"

I know Photoshop, Aperture, and Final Cut.

You will not find me later, still soaking wet from the shower, hiding out in your reception hall's boiler room, smoking a marijuana cigarette, and telling your 8-year-old flower girl, "You know, Madison, love doesn't exist. You're gonna die alone."

Oh, almost forgot! If you refer a friend, you get 25 percent off all your services. Then I'll see you folks again at someone else's wedding!

I will cut the brake lines on zero limousines.

So, here's my card! I can't wait to shoot you. With my camera, of course! Not my gun. Ha! My gun is in my car.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Just a Few Housekeeping Notes Before We Get Started with this Mass Suicide

I'd like to welcome everyone to the Harrisburg Ramada Inn! I just can't believe our convention is finally here. Real quick, though, I just have a few housekeeping notes to get through before we get started with this mass suicide.

First and foremost, all praise to our cosmic leader, Zergoz! I'm sure he smiles down upon this gathering.

I'll be brief with these logistics, as I know you are all anxious to get freshened up, shave your heads, and remove your canine teeth using the Spoon of Galactic Sparrow. If you've forgotten your Spoon, please call Hotel Reception, extension 101.

Now, folks, it is imperative that everyone be wearing their name tags at all times. They will get you into this afternoon's buffet, as well as help the police to identify the bodies.Speaking of bodies let's talk about this attendance! We are officially at 144 people! This is almost double last year- at least that's what we've gleaned from diaries obtained through the Freedom of Information Act.

In regards to overnight parking, well, I do hope everyone took our advice and either took public transportation or got dropped off by a loved one, it just makes more sense.

If you'll all take a quick look at your programs, you'll see we've added a few extra sessions of the more popular workshops. In Conference Room A, we'll have a looping video of Zergoz's Six Loathful Sermons to a Doomed Universe; in Room B, we'll have a panel discussion on the Acid Baths of the Devoted; and set up in the Terrace Room we have DJ Rumble and his classic rock karaoke! Please note that workshop attendance is optional. The only required participation is the mass suicide.

A few of you have approached me and mentioned that you brought your own letters. I hate being "that guy," but we really do prefer that everyone's suicide notes are written from an ink well of our collective blood. This is in accordance with the Prophesy which, as a courtesy, we have provided in pamphlet form in your welcome packet. Kindly destroy your original letter.

At this time, please take a moment to notice that the fire exits are to the left of the stage. Also, note that they will be barricaded at 8 p.m. sharp. The pill-swallowing will begin in the Ballroom promptly at 9:07 p.m. If you're not good with swallowing pills, just alert your nearest volunteer who will provide you with a spoonful of sherbet. You can identify these dedicated volunteers by the ribbons hanging from their namebadges; also, because they will be the last to die.

Now, this part is fun...everyone look under your chairs. Who has a red dot taped to the bottom of their chair? Oh, there you are! Congrats! You get to have Zergoz's Sacred Coordinates burnt into your thighs as your human shell is placed in the northeast corner of the room. I'm jealous!

Oh, and I just have to thank the fantastic members of this Ramada staff! Be kind to them, folks, as they'll have a heck of a time cleaning up after our 144 cold, stiff, impossibly intertwined carcasses. At least they will have tomorrow's completely untouched complimentary breakfast to enjoy!

I've been asked to remind you about check out time tomorrow… I'm kidding! Go forth in the steps of our vengeful overlord! Praise be to Zergoz. And hey- don't cut in line at the buffet!

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Slogans that, in retrospect, were a bad idea

Tiger Woods' Golf Gatorade: Drink, Drive, Repeat.

Baby Ruth DQ Blizzards: Shake a Baby!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Nba Finals, Food, Rape

Wow.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Outside.in <newsletter@outside.in>
Date: Tue, Jun 17, 2008 at 12:47 PM
Subject: Outside.In News Around You: Nba Finals, Food, Rape
To: matthewacutler
June 17, 2008

Log In »
Providence News »
Celtics Get 2 More Shots For Banner 17wbztv.com - June 16, 2008
The Boston Celtics are home, not home free. Unable to put the finishing touches on the Los Angeles Lakers and wrap up their first championship since 1986, the NBA's best team since November flew back across three time zones Monday for a Game 6 they were hoping they wouldn't have to play. »
Grocery News: Four Town Farm, Close-By Produce ParadiseKIDOINFO - June 16, 2008
Yum! Local strawberries are ready. Whether you prefer to buy them in cunning quart baskets at a farm stand or pick them by the bushel, it's time to eat strawberries in Rhode Island. Every day. Possibly at every meal. Many berry lovers in the Providence area associate U-Pick berry season [...] »
Man accused in carjacking, rape to be arraignedWJAR Providence - June 16, 2008
A man accused of carjacking a woman at knifepoint and then raping her is scheduled for an arraignment Monday. »
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(Thanks to Matt Cutler.)

Friday, June 13, 2008

Tim Russert 1950-2008

I admired and loved him an unhealthy amount.

Rest in Peace.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Trenton is incredibly important in the grand scheme of things.

Treton makes the world takes

Trenton bakes the world cakes

Trenton flakes the world rakes

Trenton shakes the world quakes

Trenton wakes the world lakes

Trenton takes the world aches

Friday, June 6, 2008

Ads for M. Night Shyamalan's new movie "The Happening"
















Terrifying.

(these were taken via cell phone on the L train.)

If I knew how to do such things I would splice the "The Happening" commercial with the horrific push-pin commercials.



Friday, April 25, 2008

The Cioci

I try not to get personal on this and keep it just random humor pieces, but I just found out that my Cioci passed away a few hours ago. 'Cioci' means 'aunt' in Polish,in this case great-aunt, but she was more of a grandmother to me. She was a great and incredibly funny lady and I will miss her very much.

Now, onto the humor part.... My sister Erin (who spells Cioci with an e for some reason) spent some time with Cioci last week. This is the exact email I got from her the next day.

Subject: Ciocie Speaks


Some of my gems from yesterday…

Erin: Cioc, want some juice?
Ciocie: Yeah, might as well get drunk.

Erin: Cioc, the Pope is coming to town.
Ciocie: Yeah, well, we paid his way. He wouldn’t be coming if we didn’t pay for it.

Erin: Cioc, all these game shows on tv, I never knew anyone on one – did you?
Ciocie: Nah…that’s all just for rich people.

Erin: Cioc, want another pillow? Want to sit up more?
Ciocie: Nah, I’m not a princess.

Erin: My parents are stopping by this afternoon.
Ciocie: My daughter must be sleeping in really late today.

Erin and Ciocie are watching this news story about some horrible crime.
Erin: How about that story, Cioc?
Ciocie: Yea, that guy had 6 sons and one daughter. Rich man!

Erin: Hungry for some more toast and jam, Cioc?
Ciocie: Not right now.
Erin: My mom made some cakes – want some of them?
Ciocie: Smiles and Yeah, that sounds good, alright.
Erin: Here’s the cake Cioc.
Ciocie: Nah, not right now.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Velvet Curtains

This is from a story on CNN.com http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/04/22/pa.primary/index.html

"But there are some factors that help Obama. He's favored to win Philadelphia, with its large African-American population, and he could do well in that city's suburbs, thanks to upscale voters who tend to support him. "

What is an "upscale voter?"

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Things I'll Teach My Hypothetical Children #4

Kid, I'm no good at being noble. But it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world… well, they are the edible nutritious seed of various plants of the legume family, but that’s beside the point…I think mostly its the genus Phaseolus- look, don’t distract me. Seriously? I guess it’s from the Middle English ben, from Old English bean; with Indo-European roots. My point is, one of us needs to get a job and it is you.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Things I'll Teach My Hypothetical Children #2

Easter Sunday is the first recorded zombie uprising. Except it was just one zombie and it was Jesus. And he didn't eat brains he just loved everybody. But things are different now, so you should be very very afraid of zombies these days.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Patrick was the Patron Saint of Miller Lite

Princess with the green eye shadow and Amstel:
You need to know: Everyone does NOT love an Irish Girl. Your tiny green shirt is a lie. In fact, you wearing that shirt probably makes a lot of reasonable people hate you. Oh, you’re half Irish on your mom’s side? Nobody cares.

Douchebag with green beads cheering for the bagpipes: I will not obey your t-shirt and kiss you because you’re Irish. It should say “look at my shirt I’m wearing a shirt.”

Genius at the Jukebox with a hoodie that says “this is my party shirt”: You’re playing a song that repeats “Up the RA.” You are so proud that you know that means support for the Irish Republican Army. You fail to understand the terrorism perpetrated by the group as of recent years. But hey what a fun dance you’re doing!

Buddy with plastic glasses where the lenses are shaped like beer bottles and they say “beer goggles”: I hate you.

Indian dude with an “I’m half-Irish” Tee:
Ok somehow that makes me laugh!

But then I feel guilty for laughing, and I bottle it all up inside…so I start drinking to forget the guilt, which causes me to feel so ashamed that I stay in my home and never see the sun, where I drink more, and I start to hate myself so much that I develop and unreasonable bravado that lends itself to pointless brawling, then I entertain myself by dancing without moving my arms.

I’m Irish!

Help.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Ruminations of Speedy Fingers

Hey, folks! Its me Barbra, AKA "Speedy Fingers!" Thanks for visiting my brand new blog! I finally put one together after being bugged by all my friends for so long. I am keeping this in order to talk about my favorite show, Men In Trees, and to create a real community among the fast typers of the greater Wichita area. Woosh! Check that out. This is why they call me "Speedy Fingers" Barbra!

Ok, As I’m typing this I am realizing that it’s probably difficult to tell that I am typing fast. I mean, it only goes at the speed at which you read it, right? But, me, I think you can tell. You can totally tell because if something was typed fast then you read it faster. Did you see how fast you read that? Or maybe you didn’t. But it was FAST.

All right, let’s try it this way. Count to 3. Now, just think in the time it is taking you to count to three I have typed this sen-

Ok that’s hard because, if we're being honest, I didn’t actually finish the sentence I can’t actually tell ahead of time how quickly I’ll be able to type something. I mean, I can guarantee it will be fast, but I can’t quantify that.

Hmm. Well I guess I still need to work out the kinks. In the meantime, I just lit a peaches-and- cream-scented candle for you all to enjoy! You’re welcome!

Sunday, February 24, 2008

I'm the Broodingest Hipster Barista There Is

You know what, its my shift at the coffee shop today, and I am really gonna make a statement. Forget playing Nina Simone or The Shins or covers of Dylan like Kerry does. I’m working the night shift and I am gonna play Mechanic Mayhem, my cousin Zed’s experimental noise band. I am going to be the one to really open up people’s perceptions of what music is.

"Sure, did you want skim milk or two percent?"

I mean, whose to say what music is? Sure, you can listen to Camera Obsura, and enjoy it while you chat with your friend, read, or work on your thesis. But, how is that challenging you? How is that shaking you free of your shackles? Fuck it, I’m turning this up to eleven.

"Mmm, how about whipped cream?"

See, this first part, I feel like this is listening to ME, I’m not listening to it. I LIKE that it sounds like a dissonant baby is jamming on a church organ. That it’s like someone is scrolling through their available cellphone rings hooked up to an industrial sized amp. That it’s like on Halloween when the doorbell keeps ringing but it’s hard to hear because you have on a “Now That’s What I Call a Haunted House” CD or whatever.

"What’s that? Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll turn it down."

Down to TEN! Whatever. This weeds out the squares. Iwant to be around free thinkers that don’t care if its like that scene in “Brokedown Palace” when the cockroach crawls into the girl’s ear but “Brokedown Palace” is Bushwick and the ear is mine and the cockroach is an entire marching band.

"Oh, how old is she? Adorable! Here- let me put the juice directly into her sippy cup for you."

That it feels painful, like the dude from the Mac commercials and “Live Free or Die Hard” is trying to banter with me. Or like every snooze alarm in Brooklyn has followed me here for the reckoning.

"The music? Sure, I’ll switch it up. I’m sorry. "

I’ll put on Monster Monster, my roommate’s girlfriend’s side project. This’ll teach that lady to judiciously part her hair and wear bootcut jeans. Puh-lease.

"Hey Jerry, we're out of Hazelnut, I'll put on another pot. A french vanilla, too, just in case."

Ha- this is the best part- where Amanda just screams and bangs on a bucket. I win! Cue the synthesizer from the He-man movie. Ok, now the tribal drums. Anyone who complains about this is a racist against Africa and probably like 30.

"Yeah, I’ll turn it down to four. Sorry."

C’mon, really? You’re all a bunch of fuckin’ sheep! You say you just want to drink coffee and get work done? I say who are you to have the luxury of relaxing? We’re put on this earth to learn and experiment and somewhere, deep down inside, you know it! You’re hiding! You’re hiding in your harmonious iambic pentametric systemic bullshit!

"Hmmm, well let’s see…I have Norah Jones. How’s that? Great!"

Oh, fine. Fuck you all. I can’t wait til my Dad picks me up.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Remember Hampster Dance?

I thought of it while doing a bit that involved mocking my friend for still using Hotmail. Remember Hotmail?

I went on http://www.hampsterdance.com/. The old hamsters have been "upgraded" with well-animated, marketable hamsters that I immediately began to resent. There are four of them, they are in a band, and they all have cute names that have a little TM after them. Puh-lease.


I thought to myself, "I miss the old, original Hampsterdance." I also thought "Why is it that when you want to animate something as female, you just give it long eyelashes?"

Anyway... I found that they have a page with the old, original Hampsterdance!


Thank you Hampsterdance!

Hampsterdance! http://www.hampsterdance.com/classorig.html


Enjoy!
(yeah I know I don't know what's up with the spelling of "hamster" either.)

Monday, January 21, 2008

I'm so happy...

I'm so happy, I think I'll flip a car!

Won't you help me? I must use car-flipping to demonstrate my delight!

Let's see. This car here. Is it in a natural, roof-on-top position? CHECK! Now, let us make it so this automobile is festively upside down!

You and your lady friend with the half-closed eyes overcome by hysteria and hair glitter. Both of you, help me flip this car!

And there, that man hopping and saying "Woooo." The one wearing no shirt, no shirt at all. I am positive he would want to be in on this car-flipping.

I see, through blissful tears, a woman near the curb. Her hair as big and beautiful as my bursting heart; her baby hastily bundled in team colors for this freezing midnight near-riot. I put it to you that each would equally cherish the spectacle of a Nissan Sentra going tires up.

I must now echo the shirtless: Woooo!

We require more assistance, as this is not only a difficult physical task but it is one that will prove a turning point, a milestone, a measuring stick in countless lives. How about that young man there in the street whose painted nipples are as bold as his misdirected sense of pride? Indeed!

Oh, car—oh, comrades—our proceedings this day are extraordinary!

I shall wait for you to pour that beverage over your head. Done? Onward!
------------------------------------------------------------------
(Hey- I'm feeling bad about not posting lately. Recycling old ones is good

Saturday, January 12, 2008

The Day When Somebody Sh*t on my Front Step

This happened about a year ago when I was living in Pittsburgh. Someone asked me about it recently so decided to repost it. The lessons learned are universal.-cfn


___

A friend of mine was in the beginning stages of a relationship, the part where everything is magical and great and you still notice little things (“little things” like how they bite their lip when they’re nervous, not “little things” like how freaking loudly they chew.) The woman my friend was dating actually poetically noted the "angle of his jaw" or something sweet like that in a post bursting with the iambic energy of a blogger in love.

The same day I read that I received an email from my friend who was 5 months pregnant and couldn’t be more excited. All the lovely details were shared ("the ultrasound showed him kicking and flipping all over the place") and I was unspeakably happy for her.

Now, onto my day. I was working two annoying shifts at the restaurant.
Also: somebody sh*t on my front step.

No, I am not making this up. Yes, it was most definitely human feces, unless bears poop unnoticed through the streets of Pittsburgh. (But in fairness I never saw a bear's excrement and could not attest to its similarity- or dissimilarity - to that of a human.)

I will remind the reader: somebody sh*t on my front step.

I was living above a chiropractor's office-- you had to walk through his waiting room to get to the apartment. To get into the building, you had to walk up a handicap ramp (unless you're handicapped) then you are on the porch. You walk up on step to get in the door. It was on this very step that somebody sh*t.

I had been outside earlier and it wasn't there, so it happened while I was in the building. I do not necessarily take this as a personal insult, and have considered that perhaps Dr. Smith downstairs relaxed a patient just so. I also have considered it as simply a cosmic sign of good luck. When I left for my second shift, I just regarded the specimen, stepped over it, and left.

Irresponsible! I thought, I should have done something to clean it up. But I didn't... and it was gone by time I got home a few hours later. Success! A strange and unusual problem solved as a result of me doing absolutely nothing! I decided I should approach more of my life's perplexing aspects as I did that magnificent day:

assess situation
emit sounds like "huh"
remember details and arrange ideas for future entertaining narration
completely side-step obvious solution
wait for someone else to deal with it

It worked this day, when somebody sh*t on my front step. I learned a lot from the sh*tt*ng someone did on my front step. The extra asterisk there was extravagant.

I can only hope the same happens to you. Good luck!

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Things I’ll teach my hypothetical children.

1. The Epiphany/Little Christmas (January 6) is when Baby J’s dried and and knotted umbilical cord fell off, revealing his sacred little belly button.* The wisemen said “History shall promptly forget this day.” But they were wrong. The Italians celebrate by putting their shoes outside their houses in hopes of getting candied baby umbilical knots.

*His would become the most famous belly button ever, thanks to the immense popularity of crucifices! Never stop believing in YOU!

Thursday, January 3, 2008

The break-up. Or, Not everybody does it, but everybody should. Or, WHAM! puns!

We need to talk.

I’m leaving you. This can't be coming as a complete surprise. The signs have been there from the beginning.

Take last Christmas, for example. I know we had just started going out, and everything was still new and exciting and sweetly awkward. I gave you a handmade card and a smoke detector.

Last Christmas, you gave me what was clearly just a re-gifted George Michael heart. And it wasn’t even Christmas. It was the very next day.

This year, to save me from tears, I’m leaving you for somebody special.

I mean, really. The heart--- it still had the boom-boom that someone, presumably you, had previously put into it.

Of course, I pretended to like it. But how was that practical? Or even romantic? Another man’s heart, wrapped in the box those big chocolate oranges come in. You could have got me something I could keep hangin’ on, like a yo-yo. That's fun!

I ended up just re-regifting it to my Preacher/Teacher since his birthday is in February. He hasn't spoken to me since! I gotta say it was smelling pretty badly by that point. I should have known better than to cheat a friend.

And then Valentine’s day! All of my coworkers wanted to see what you had gotten me; how was I supposed to explain I that all you gave me was your “sex?” I’ll agree that it’s natural and chemical. I’m willing to give you logical. But habitual and sensual? Try defending that point in the breakroom.

Sometimes I think that you'll never understand me. Understand me!

Then there was the time you… well, you know what you did. Suffice it to say, I’m never gonna dance again. (And that's according to three separate specialists.)

It makes me crazy when you act so cruel.

And then the other night, we were just starting to get hot and heavy- you leaned over and told me you wanted to be my father figure. So gross!! (Just in case you were at all serious, here's a little advice: Don't let your son go down on you.)

That was it. I don’t belong to you, and you don’t belong to me.

Don’t worry about me. But say a prayer, and pray for the other ones. The other fools who are dumb enough to go out with you. I CHOOSE LIFE!

I have to leave now, my ride is here. Ladies and Gentleman, Mr. Elton John!