Long Exercised In Woes.

We Got A Little Rule Back Home: If It's Brown, Drink It Down. If It's Black, Send It Back.

I Didn't Lie! I Just Created Fiction With My Mouth!

Marge, When I Join An Underground Cult I Expect A Little Support From My Family.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Bad Herdsmen Waste The Flocks Which Thou Hast Left Behind.