The last thing I want to be remembered as is an annoying blabbermouth. (chuckles) You know, nothing grinds my gears worse than some chowder-head who doesn't know when to keep his big trap shut. You catch me running off at the mouth, just give me a poke in the chops.
So don't speak to me. Ever. And while you're not ever speaking to me, jump up your own ass and die!
Attention. You are now entering the Debarkation Area. No talking. No smoking. Follow the orange line to the Processing Area. The next scheduled departure to the prison is in two hours. You now have the option to terminate and be cremated on the premises. If you elect this option, notify the Duty Sergeant in your Processing Area.
It's an old legend that on Christmas Eve at midnight, all the animals fall to their knees and speak, praising the new-born Jesus. Back in the winter of '69, my dad was serving a short time for a DUI and I don't know where my mom was... Anyway, I was home alone Christmas Eve and I stayed up extra kind of late to see if my dog Buddy would talk, and he did. I don't remember his exact words, but that's not important. What-- What matters is that a 7-year-old boy experienced his own personal epiphany. What's my point? Well, it's that Christmas reveals itself to us each in a personal way. Be it secular or sacred, whatever Christmas is, and it's many things to many people, we all own a piece of it. It's like... Well, it's kind of like Santa's bag. Inside, there's a gift for everybody. My Christmas wish for you tonight: may your dog talk. Good night, Cicely. Merry Christmas.