After the zombie apocalypse, Bob Ross has trouble finding the happiness in trees.

The nurses of Silent Hill may not be fully licensed.

Richard III always wanted to be a monarch, but never wanted to be a butterfly.

A lone stranger had come to town, and trouble came after.

Inorganic baby food is unbearable.

As you know, the Grand Ball of the Madness Society is always a spectacle.

Suicide is painless.

To anthropomorphic dollar bills, life ain't nothin' but bitches and money.

"Cletus T. Bear, at yur service. I may not be the handiest bear in these woods, nor the best dressed, but I do talk. Not bad fur a bear."

Well, maybe if you gave Polly a fucking cracker once in a while, she wouldn't be so dramatic about everything!

Servo: "The Koreans mixed up the layers again." Crow: "This one is about couches covered in hair." Joel: "What kind of cat do they have!?"

"Youse smarts, alright," the boss sneered. "But youse so smarts, youse stupid, see." He lit a wad of cash with his cigar. "Not like me."