Yeah, pal. I need a dozen cheeseburgers here. Now.
Don’t Hassel the Hoff!
“Of course with onions! And extra cheese. Name? Put it under Turd Ferguson I’ll be right over.”
“What! No, I can’t look out the window, They’ve got me talking on some sort of ironic hipsterphone.”
Looks like he earned every cent of his $50 for that gig.
I don’t know why we idolize professional athletes and A-list celebrities, Hasselhoff has been in a league of his own going on a quarter century now.
“Hi, this is The Hoffster! Carla can’t make it to the phone right now, if you know what I mean, but if you’ll leave your name and number, she’ll get right back to you. Have a great day!”
“OF course I’m the REAl David Hasselhoff! What do you mean I don’t look a thing like him!”
“I’m serious mom! Turn on channel 5 right now!!”
“Hello dolphincock? -Yeah, this is The Hoff. What’s up?”
Hey, is this Tesco? Ya, it’s the Hoff, send up the usual….3 roast chicks and a bottle of Dewars!
“Hello Honey! I’m calling you from a land line surrounded by no talent actresses in orange bathing suits! The time machine works…I’m back in the 90’s!
His skin tone is rescue device orange.
“Yeah, send over ten cases of beer, four half-gallons of vodka, a case of tequila, and a bag of peanuts.”
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