I don't know who this fellow is. He came with the hoard of vintage family photos I've been exploiting. Doesn't he look like he's got something to say, and he's gonna make sure you hear it?
Doesn't he look like your friend that comes to your parties, who is really fun to be around for just about an hour or two? He can tell a heck of a story, he speaks his mind, he's witty and charming. But then there comes a point when he gets obnoxious and you're just sick of listening to him.
Ok, Frank, yes, Frank, you're right.
No, Frank, you didn't tell me about the time you bit the weiner dog because he bit you first.
Frank, that's my foot you're standing on.
Regardless, he looks like the dude who's gonna say what's on his mind. Which I appreciate a million times over. The truth is the truth, and hearing it has never killed anybody.
No, Frank, this pimple on my forehead does not have it's own heartbeat.
Yes, Frank, I am too old to be getting zits.
No, Frank... don't squeeze it.
