
“You know, Bernadette: You cannot exactly drift a car with your suspension out of whack,” Gothic Diana Ross says to her next door neighbor Bernadette Cacca, as she peels out her Manteno driveway for the zillionth time and veers to the side of the road, releasing an awful stench since her oil is running on fumes.
“Are you burning rubber, or are you burning poopies?”
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