What do I do if I don’t have any questions to ask?
It appears to be something like that if you are the sort to believe in that kind of thing?
Did you know it’s sacrilegious to like the Cubs on the south side?
Is it because we feel sorry for those wacky north side fans?
Didn’t I know Canadians love hockey? And that in Jersey, they play it on the roofs of quik-stops? Were they even supposed to come into to work today?
Say it ain’t so, Chgo?
Why not make something random up? Isn’t that we’re all doing all the time anyway? Or wait, is that just me who has no idea what I’m doing at all times of the day or night? Am I even an adult, really? Am I just faking it all?
Isn’t learning to fake it what being an adult is all about?
Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod? Not trying to usurp your husband, you know? Just saying?
How can we get bored NOW right at the freakin finish line?!?!?!
How many roooo-ooaaaads must a man wa-alk-down… befooooore you call him a maaaan?
Which film has the most questions in it?
How about Memento?
Is that what your little note says?
finish line? you think that will end this? shall we carry on till the mods shut us down?
Is this really the final sprint? What are we supposed to do after 9999, count to 10,000?
While I’m not sure it’s the goal, don’t we all feel like we’re faking it at times?
Who in their right mind thinks that 10,000 is a hard limit to our fun?
I’ve told you this before, haven’t I?
Wait, could you remind me?