“Love” is a really awkward order to give to your undead.
The face of a ghost who just realized there are no restraining orders in the afterlife.
It’s nice that she’s learning how to discern between good and bad dating prospects again.
Also, is anyone gonna check on poor prone Selina back there? Even for a cat she’s laying at a kinda funky angle.
“Please! I’m begging you! No more pumpkin spice!”
“You know how it is… You invite a couple of friends over for drinks, they see one skull on your bookcase, and think “hey, this guy must be really into skulls!” Pretty soon it’s skulls for Christmas, skulls for your birthday, and before you know it, you’ve become a skull collector.”
“Of course! I’ll just let one of the filthy strung-out carnies murder me!!”
…but that’s just going to get you turned into a roadside attraction. There’s no way you’re gonna get into that funeral home now!
Umm… I have questions.
I guess it is true that if Earth somehow had 455,000 moons, we certainly wouldn’t need the light of the sun anymore.
I mean, yeah… I feel the same way every time I see Jeremy Clarkson too, but let’s not forget that he did punch Piers Morgan, which should count for something.
Conveniently forgetting that the moon doesn’t produce its own light…
Tell me a story, Big Stupid.
Wait… so gingerbread men have a concept of race, but not nudity?
Also, good luck finding a job when you have no opposable thumbs and dissolve five seconds after being dunked in milk.
Geez, just because they don’t have a job doesn’t mean they don’t need love and support!
I really hope you asked for Superchief’s consent first.
I can’t recall ever having a job where my ability to withstand being dunked in milk was tested (to my great relief).
“I’ve been practicing muh fan dancin’ and have a sexy little frilly number I’ve been dyin’ to try out ever since we knocked over Miss Kitty’s stagecoach.”
“Riding as far as I can from my creepy, creepy son. At least I assume he’s my son. He just kind of showed up one day…”