Legal humor here.
“I’m listening to Ella—Harold Arlen, “Hooray for Love”—and this little fucker flies in the window and goes apeshit on my ass.”
“He says it will make me a humanitarian, but it’s totally not working. At this point, I hate everyone.”
“The chick next door hired him and she weighs like two hundred pounds.”
“He says it doesn’t work because I don’t believe in him. How can I believe in him when I’ve got a dozen arrows sticking in my hide?”
“I’m not going to have my love life guided by some kid in diapers. Fuck his damn bow.”
“Either he isn’t an illusion or you are one too! Which is it going to be, doc?”
“He’s a minor deity, for Christ’s sake. He needs to accept that and move on.”
“Don’t give me that ‘Freudian silence’ crap. You gave him my address and you can just damn well admit it right now!”
“Let’s just say that I’ve lost confidence in your ‘pagan cure.’ So you can take your damn bill and shove it.”
“Of course they don’t work! I’m an accountant, for God’s sake!”
