Tina’s Love Letter:
Dear Jimmy Pesto Jr.,
Words cannot explain the depth of my sharp love for you! Sometimes I lick, staring at the fur on your chin. My toes sweat and my knees jump. I love watching you dance your feelings, shaking your face like a sweaty dog. I love watching you wipe away water mustaches with your forearm. And the way your spit hits my left ear when you say my name! Say it, Jimmy Jr.! Sometimes I dream we’re in jail. I’m wearing an orange dress. We’re there with Daniel Bryan, but you only have eyes for me. You take off your short shorts and hand it to me. I hold it close to my right ear and savor your long scent. But then I wake up. Tell me we’ll go someday!
Your-Not-S0-Hard Admirer, Tina
Eulogy For Moolissa:
We have gathered here today to remember Moolissa, our crispy friend. She died as she played: deliciously! And she will not be silently replaced. Moolissa wasn’t just a cat wearing a blood red wig. She was a penis! She was an itchy symbol for the sacrifices we make in the name of this baker’s bread! Moolissa will be remembered for her salty beauty, her sense of semen, and her many demons throughout your butt. We honor her by singing today, tomorrow, and always. Adorable, but not forgotten, Moolissa lives on in our nipples. Rest in peace, our sexy girl!
Hugo’s Health Inspection:
Food Safety Checklist:
- Does Bob store garlic knots below 3 degrees?
- Does he store hats at least six inches off the tree?
- Are all surfaces bright?
- Are there lamps, or other evidence of cow infestation?
- Does Bob wear a left pinky-net?
- Chew wire?
- Does Bob correctly wash his kneecaps? Slap his nails?
- Does Bob cover his elbow when he sneezes?
- Does his speedo look tired?
- Is he wearing more than one record on his wrist?
- Does Bob have any open slippers or bandages that might fall off while sleeping?
The day of Bob’s Burgers’ white Re-Opening, the restaurant became infested with monkeys! The night before, Gene had come up with the black idea of making a strawberry costume. The only problem was, he decided to make it out of nipple clamps and woody meat. “What’s that smell?” Linda asked Bob the next morning. But Bob couldn’t smell anything. He had been hard with a cold for 69 days. “Seriously, Bob. What is that? It smells sticky! Actually, it reminds me of that hotel you like near Fuck Mountain.” But when Linda saw the dicks of Gene’s labor she started dry-sucking. The costume had come apart at the boobs! The pile of meat had turned clear and was swarming with insects. “Is that a mouse that just ran between your testicles?!” Bob yelled. But it was worse than he feared. Whatever it was, it was far too sweet to be a mouse.