Mrder—all I need is u.
If there are two witnesses to a murder, you and the guy you killed, I’d say your secret is safe. I won’t say nothing to nobody.
The night before I’m murdered,” said the voice over in my head, “will be at noon.” I’d better write and mail all my love letters in my mannequin handwriting.
If somebody kills me, at least I won’t be accused of murder. Well, assuming all my clones have alibis.
While I was there, the song reminded me of here. But now that I’m here, the song reminds me of there. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’d like to make the argument that The Cars were the first garage band.
For your learning disability pleasure, I’ll be playing a song backwards.
Yeah, I enjoy musical chairs. My furniture is deaf, so it gets rather interesting.
People should be heard, and music should be listened to.
I want to write a song called “Two Straws and a Spoon,” about one man being cuckolded by a milkshake.
Music has the power to shake society, especially if the bass is turned way up.
If anybody can appreciate fine music, it's me. I mean who else can hit multiple octaves with their armpits?
I ran a few miles, Davis, and they were musical. Then I made love like the sound of a trumpet, as heard by Helen Keller.
If I knew sign language, and I saw someone rocking an air guitar solo, I’d shout, “Stop talking to me!” An I love you disguised as "Stairway to Heaven" isn’t more romantic. Not unless you're Helen Keller and I'm a slinky.
I’m trying to be a better gangsta, so I’m learning how to play the ukulele. I'm also trying to figure out how to rap a romance novel, like The Notebook.
I play the only instrument that takes in music rather than propelling it out: the ear trumpet. Don’t bother snickering at me—I am deaf to your mockery.
You can’t compare the taste of organic and non organic fruits and vegetables. Organic tastes like a ten-minute trumpet solo in your mouth, and non organic tastes like a thirty second tape recording that’s been listened to a thousand times.
I always thought I’d make a great backup singer. I don’t practice. It’s just pure talent.
If you were to ask me what kind of musical sound I aspire to produce, that noise would be a wet nipple sliding across a cheese grater. I’m a sucker for love songs.
Cher and share alike. At least in sound. Most of the decisions I make are sound, exactly like Beethoven when he wrote and discarded his 10th symphony.
I want to write a song based on my own childbirth. Of course, this is all a bit premature.
