(Is anyone even here besides me & Mr. Evilwrench?)
What rotten luck. Getting pulled over when he had beer on his breath, his license had just expired and there was no room in his trunk for any more cops.
It's not the size of the dog in the fight...
Butch felt slightly dishonest, leaving the Times crossword puzzle with the body of his latest victim. But those homicide detectives were smart and he was really stuck.
The one transgression Butch could not forgive, the one thing that always drove into a white-hot murderous rage, was when people... when people... oh, let's see...
Mesquite is overrated.
The thrill of getting published was undeniable, but Butch couldn't understand why milk cartons only ran the "BEFORE" pictures.
It was nice of his neighbor to lend Butch the lawnmower, but that didn't mean he had the right to ask a lot of goddamn QUESTIONS when he got it back.
Getting a spear into a rock concert is always tricky, but this year Butch was going to be ready for the mosh pit.
Butch was firmly opposed to assisted suicide, on the grounds that it makes it impossible to keep score.
Motorcycle enthusiasts are great fun. They keep their vehicles in good condition, and you can always find one who wants to drag.
(Looking over these, I'm unsure about the first one because I think I may have seen it, the last one may not be quite right -- do bikers drag race, or is that someone else? -- and I realize now that the third one could be read two ways... maybe I should make it "really stuck on 14 across".)