I would walk a mile for a Camel.
I found mint in my menthol shaving cream.
Up, up, and away with TWA,
you’re living in the Golden Age of Schlitz.
Winston tastes good like a cigarette should.
You can’t take the country out of Salem.
You dream about Chrysler
because Chrysler is your dream car.
The Bettys are the navigators and pilots
of the interstellar garbage scow.
One of them is a clone of the other.
Quark is in love with Betty.
He does not know which one.
When asked which Betty is the clone,
The Bettys accuse each other.
And let’s not talk about Gene or Jean.
He or she is a transmute humanoid
with a complete set of both male and female
chromosomes and, I assume, sex organs.
The gender confusion manifests
in a split personality.
Silva Thins are super thin.
Cigarettes are like women,
the best ones are thin and rich.
I’m Cheryl, fly me.
Millions of people flew me last year.
RCA introduces non-smear color TV,
the frosty taste of a blizzard.
When you’re out of Schlitz,
you’re out of beer.
Poor James Whitmore,
he was never able to have a hit series.
His friend Tony could hardly speak English.
The temperature never rose and went through
three cast changes, two different formats,
and two time slots.
“Now, I don’t wear pantyhose,
but if Beauty Mist can make my legs look good,
imagine what they’ll do for yours.”
The broadcast of Super Bowl III
was blacked out in the Miami market.
If you lived in South Florida
and wanted to see the game,
you were forced to buy a ticket
and show up at the stadium.
Baltimore lost to the underdog Jets.
The underground bookies got upset.
The rental car companies were ecstatic.
Bob Hope referred to Spiro Agnew
as his good friend Ted.
Three astronauts pledged allegiance,
“One nation indivisible.”
Broadway Joe guaranteed the win.
The first name of the losing coach was