Fifty-one weeks of the year I let you run around like a monkey in a banana factory.
Preaching to the choir. Think of what little patience I have as your virginity. You always thought it would be there until that night when you were feeling down, and your pal, Kevin, who just wanted to be friends, he dropped by and he brought a copy of 'About Last Night' and a four-pack of Bartles & Jaymes. And... It was gone for ever. Just like my patience is now.
— And it is "blow one's brains" and not just "blow someone"!
— I know!
Well, I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.