[from my @NotBryanRay page]
Today I went to the store and bought some Puffy Paints and wrote my name on a white T-shirt.
doing cartwheels on the balance beam
Whenever I enter, people leave the room.
My next-door neighbor is a producer of R&B music; so I listen thru the walls when he’s creating new grooves, and I use my tape recorder to copy the songs; then I go outside and play them on my boombox, and people give me compliments when they pass by.
I have a work ethic that’s stronger than spicy gravy.
I did not come to Earth to cure diseases. I came to be a tap dancer, so watch me now.
New fad for businessmen: instead of a bowtie, wear a noose around your neck.
Robot Man has arms of wood. I just noticed that.
I believe that I invented the genre called “New Jack Swing.”
When I told Mister Rogers that I’m glad to be his neighbor, he sighed and said: “There goes the neighborhood.” Then I said: “Seriously, don’t worry; I’ll behave well.”
plane lander . . . belt sander.
I administer jolts of electrical light when battling enemies. At present, my opponent is a mechanical shark: I blast at it and rip its fake face off; then I make a fist out of my huge hand and break the monster’s jaw. “See how that feels!” I say.
Join my club and I’ll take you anywhere.
I don’t save the world; I only destroy it, cuz I’m so mean.
Nobody knows how strong I am. I can pick up and throw a Pontiac Trans Am, and it goes flipping thru the air for miles; then I ride my motorbike alongside it and whip out my Magnum firearm and yell: “Slow down; I am the Law!” and then the car comes to a stop at the side of the road.
My mom was pregnant with me, but she pressed “Abort,” but I got out anyway, and now I’m here.
I’m the galaxy conqueror, driving a racecar and honking my horn.
You are a tadpole and I’m a dead chicken. You try to eat me, but you get sick because you can’t digest my gristle.
I’m real mellow but I have a short fuse.
Your singing duo looks like all the other bands in the world of folk music. My singing duo looks like Moses and Aaron teaching the people.
I’m not here to preach; I’m here to tell the truth. – I’m not really human, and I’m not from Minnesota. I’m from Miami like the Gucci Crew II.
I travel fast like light beams thru corn stalks.
My music album contains a legal disclaimer because I sampled myself and I don’t want to get sued.
I stole your girlfriend. Plus, my clone stole your girlfriend’s clone from your clone.
But what if the talking computer kills our hibernating scientists!
I’m E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial asking to borrow your mobile device so that I can phone home, because my alien lady-friends keep paging my beeper.
I’m leaping over fences and chasing golf balls.
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