Because real evil has gloves held together by Skittles.
(Sunday Night)
The pudding could have used more salt, less plutonium.
Toby would keep his bitches in line, if he could only find some. Oh, and if he still had testicles.
Madeline had apparently heard all the "laying pipe" "clogged drain" and "plunger love" jokes at a party the night before.
Trogdor - burninating one gourd at a time.
Steve: Crap Andy, I told you we shouldn't have overclocked the pumpkin past 3Ghz.
Randall: This is punch, right? I'm not going to pull up a cupfull of eye of newt or dragon scale or anything I hope.
Madeline decked out in her "sexy librarian that just woke up at 5 in the morning on a Sunday to travel a hundred miles in the rain and do a job for no pay" getup.
Brett bites his lip, knowing that if he opens his mouth, the remainder of his breakfast burrito will once again try to escape.
Sean practices his 'mildly surprised yet disinterested zombie' look. Brett prepares to tickle him.
The lapcam gets em every time.
Already in wardrobe, the fearsome threesome start to wonder which of them smells like hobo. And which of them smells like dead hobo.
Zombie farts were even funnier than normal ones.
Sean, Madeline and Brett; proud of their ragged wardrobe.