“If I remember rightly the neighbor’s lawn was being watered by a sprinkler.”

“Which sounded like… what?”

“Mr. Prosecutor, it sounded like a defibrillator.”

I am Michelangelo. The bridezilla is the Pope. That’s how I choose to look at it.

Is it pleasant to be the unfortunate baker tasked with making her wedding cake? No.

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed members of the PTA, please lend me your rapt attention. I know you’ve already taken in a range of different issues tonight, some of which will no doubt have shocked you. Boys caught smoking in the toilet. Office staff siphoning off donations from deceased alumni. The rowing team recruiting local beggars into a bare-knuckle boxing league. But believe me when I tell you—none of that matters. Because the issue I’m about to raise with you is something infinitely graver.

I’m not running a bed and breakfast here, but I recently purchased some signs both as gentle reminders for myself and also as seeds of information and uplift for potential guests. Not that we like having guests (who does?). But if we do have guests, these may be helpful.

Fellow members of the Walt Disney Studios creative team, thank you for the chance to make this pitch to you. Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the Percy Jackson set on the way in and sort of lost my mind. I got them all to autograph my tie, though, so it was worth it.