(In the living room about 15 minutes before Thanksgiving Dinner with 20 family members and Grandma.) Gram: I think somebody farted. Younger Brother: You know what they say Gram, they who smelled it, dealt it. Gram: (laughs) That's true. (*Pause*) Gram; No, I was wrong, somebody's crapped themselves.
(When I was younger, walking down the street and we passed a group of guys when one spits on the floor) Grandmother: You gonna pick that up punk? Guy: WHAT? Grandmother: Yeah, I'm gonna stay here untill you clean it up! Guy: How do you want me to do that? Grandmother: LICK IT UP OR SOMETHING! (Grandma keeps staring at him until the guy cleans it off of the street.)