All you parents with girls in the seven-and-under range?
Start submitting your prearranged marital applications for my boys. I already showed you the Project Manager. (Hello! Big earning potential! Financial security for us all!)
(!!!)
(Priorities, people!)
But today, I bring you my Zig:
Start submitting your prearranged marital applications for my boys. I already showed you the Project Manager. (Hello! Big earning potential! Financial security for us all!)
(!!!)
(Priorities, people!)
But today, I bring you my Zig:
So, go ahead. Send in those applications. That way, I can burn them look through them and then beat your girls off with a stick (figuratively!) when that time comes around.
Because?
THEY ARE ALL MINE.
YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM.
That Campers, though. He'll prevail. He'll have no trouble securing a wife. He'll make a list, check it twice, and call it done.
But Zig?
He'll have no less than eighty-seven girls swarming around him, but he'll never know. He's your terribly cute, amazingly sensitive, adorably clueless-to-the-admiring-fans-around-him type of guy.
Reminds me of someone ELSE I know.
Oh, but some Ma-type girl will make out her list, check out the Zig, and call it done.
Pesky, pesky girl.
Sweet, sweet, Zig.
A match made in heaven.
Because?
THEY ARE ALL MINE.
YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM.
That Campers, though. He'll prevail. He'll have no trouble securing a wife. He'll make a list, check it twice, and call it done.
But Zig?
He'll have no less than eighty-seven girls swarming around him, but he'll never know. He's your terribly cute, amazingly sensitive, adorably clueless-to-the-admiring-fans-around-him type of guy.
Reminds me of someone ELSE I know.
Oh, but some Ma-type girl will make out her list, check out the Zig, and call it done.
Pesky, pesky girl.
Sweet, sweet, Zig.
A match made in heaven.
