Samuel L. Jackson in London. (August 3, 2011)
Whoopi lost weight.
Say ‘hat’ again. Say ‘wat’ again, I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker, say hat one more Goddamn time!
He went from Shaft to Aunt Jemima in the wink of an eye.
More like Uncle Ben.
Jackson is one of the greatest actors of our generation, and yet everytime the poor bastard step out in public, some asshole wants him to sign wants a photograph of Jedi Master Mace Windu.
The ghost of Alec Guinness tells me that he can sing a few bars of that tune.
“Does this look like motherfucking Pillsbury Doughboy’s hat to you?”
Say, isn’t that a Chanel jacket he’s wearing?
Hahah, I was going to say something like that too. He looks like he stole those clothes from a wealthy old Jewish lady.
I told you I should have been in Smurfs.
In my next project I play a package of chocolate JiffyPop.
Medea Goes to the Haberdasher
looks half seminary half convent fuxupwida’
that black grower mama from “Weeds” is finally out of the house.
Motherfucker, let me remind you whose clothes these are.
It’s amazing how often you can dress up a homeless man, and he’ll look exactly like Samuel L Jackson.
It ate me: that bitch of a shark ate me!
“You want me to motherfucking sign your motherfucking what, motherfucker?!”
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