You know you’re pear-shaped if: (1) Your badonkadonk is bigger than your boobs, (2) You think of leggings as the eighth deadly sin, and (3) If you were a country, “Bootylicious” would be your national anthem.

I will rather trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself.

Phocion the Athenian (a man of great severity, and no ways flexible to the will of the people[…]

I drank dunkel export beer in the Bier Halle where all the girls were called Therese;