I don't give a flab about the flab-er-gab

I don't give a flab about the flab-er-gab

It was the gut-buster that I was worried about. Ok so my gut might stick out a bit... ok a lot. But it was my gut, and I didn't think it needed busting.

But you know what does need a busting ?

"No, whats-a needs-a busting?" "Youra face needs a busting." "My face? Whatsa come-and-ago?" ... and so on. Our Chico Marx Brothers routine was the hit of the subway station.

Unfortunately the subway station was hit by Poision gas from a cult led by a blind Japanese Jerry Garcia. The Chico in my Marx Bro's group died instantly. At the trial

disaster ensued when a subway car was called to testify against Jelly Galcia. The Marx estate demanded recompense in a brand new Chico, saying he was worth more than Zeppo or the

entire net worth of Dweezle Zappo, but certainly less than Zappos shoes once they got bought by Amazon. But we've gotten off topic, haven't we? Right, so Jelly had a thing

ring in her thang that showed through her thong. PB was smooth though, so he didn't comment. Jelly said "What's the matter baby? Don't you want to get between the bread?" PB

't his anemic girlfriend's fingers. "Relax & stop fighting In an instant, he was frozen...and he just let it go.