You wore a little blue dress, the Germans wore gray . . .

. . . I was smoking holding a cigar. Ah, we’ll always have Paris the Oval Office.


Whose house is this going to be at? Are you bringing the chips, or am I? You say looking forward to smoking a cigar?

OK, hold it right there.

Seriously, Bill–can I call you Bill?–if you don’t stop inviting yourself over, I’m going to have to get a restraining order.

And don’t you recall the last time you got all friendly-like with the help? How’d that work out for you? You think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship? You think that the problems of three little people won’t amount to a hill of beans?

I don’t care what you think. Take your TV and your chips and your cigar somewhere else. Besides, that little blue dress isn’t even my size, and that beret is just silly.

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