You’re killing me, bro. “Jesus danced.”
Please don’t buy me a beer. Is this how you always talk to the ladies? No wonder you’re so angry. I bet that doesn’t work out well for you. “Here, baby. Have a handout — er — beer.”
I’ll look for the dude in the American flag shirt sobbing by the beer tent as “Wild Horses” or something plays. I’ll bet good money that’s you.