Alphonse, I’d like you to meet Gaston.
I thought that all of the comments would be about our Sun being the nearest star. Silly me.
Gonna miss you, man.
Don’t I wish.
Bye bye, Drumpfians. Don’t let the door smack you on the behind on your way out.
Bond. James Bond.
And then, as natural as the sun rising, a Republican apparatchik has to chime in with non sequiturs.
High crimes…in you dreams.
Alphonse, I’d like you to meet Gaston.