I hate these f$%*ing dungarees...

Man, what self-respecting mover and shaker (well, at least wriggler and aimless arm-waver) gets strapped into *seersucker* dungarees?!?

I feel like John Boy Walton in short pants at a formal dance. All I'm missing now are spats.

G&*damn Baby Gap specials...catch those bastids, I'm gonna $%^& tear them a new @#$%...

I don't even get any respect when I'm pissed-off. Mommy just says I look "cute".