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Musing With Mitch
by Mitchell Kobriger
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If it looks like cheese, and it smells like cheese, trust me -- it ain't always cheese.
I guess they don't know who looted that Iraqi museum, but it wasn't Mitch, that's for goddamn sure.
Maybe it's just me, but two chicks kissing kinda turns my crank.
There isn't a dish in the finest restaurant that couldn't be improved with marshmallows.
If you ask me, Utah is ripe for a few hundred drive-through liquor stores.
"Dy-no-MITE!" Man, that *still* cracks me up!
Olives? Yes. Capers? No. Bell peppers? Hell no.
Check out American Idol and tell me again how TV is a wasteland. Go on, I dare you!
A good barber, like a good dentist, should remind you to brush up and down, not side to side.
Keep your commie skim milk outta my fridge, or be prepared to rumble.
Diapers: They served me well as a child, they serve me well as an adult.
If an ethnic group is about to change its name, please let ol' Mitch know before he gets punched this time.
I never did try heroin, but I can't imagine it's good very for you.
It's that time of year when Señor Mitch plants his tomatoes, cucumbers and a little of that extra spicy bush oregano, if you know what I mean.
If it's mushrooms, make mine shiitake.
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