Take a memo.

And then you can put the sender through the shredder.

Like Fargo.

Swept Away.

Out of sight, out of mind. A new broom...

Sweeps clean. The street sweeper in chief.

All that life can a fjord.

Before that there was Leif in the fast lane.

Autonomous fjords powered by a can of V-8.

Marathon man redux.

It's intended as an anaesthetic itself,

Puts most people right to sleep.

The change of pace.

He hates change.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Throwing the old change-up.

Soup's on.

A soupçon of soup of the day.

Or no soup for you.

Jack Spratt could eat no fat.

Scarlett covered with maple syrup. Yummy.

 He licked the platter clean.

A little off the top.

You have to expect a little gouging from a chiseler.

Protect your piece of the action.

TBD.

Too bad, dummy. Maybe he wants to be surprised.

You name it, he's not happy about it.

The Enlightenment.

Street lights are the enemy, both of sky watchers and footpads.

Enlighten me.

On a bender.

She only has four panels, eight at the most.

That leaves her on the wagon, binge-watching wise.

The polls are closed.

The stealth company that can bomb totally unseen.

The perfect crime.

Sky Masterson approved.

"When you meet a gent paying all kinds of rent..."

Luck be a lady.

Now you see it.

There's is nothing up my sleeve or in my promises.

Aghast is her name.

Ceteris paribus.

All else being equal, it works out precisely.

Can't ask for fairer than that.

Stop watch.

You can set your watch by it. Orientation.

Same old same old.

Burnt toast.

According to the myth,  burnt toast phantosmia is an early sign of a stroke.

Or not.

The Leaker.

They won't have to dust for fingerprints, then.

It was a spontaneous leak. Unlike the Snowden leak.

MARA.

And he doesn't mean the '50s actress Mara Corday.

A sugar high won't do much.

di di di dah dah dah di di di.

He should get in touch with that guy G. Marconi.

He telegraphed that punchline.

Playing footsie.

He just hit a rough patch himself, the heel.

Mind reader.

Ars gratia Clyde.

Let sleeping artists lie. It's like Shakespeare in the Park...

But without the Shakespeare.

Freakout.

Vacation goes out the window when you fear the future.

Education without tears? Not around her.

Game of thrones.

One golden throne to another.

It all works out in the end.

Across his bow.

Danger. Danger, Will Robinson. He's going soft.

That's all the warning you get.

Up in smoke.

Which has nothing to do with Cheech and Chong.

Change to the patch.

Yo momma...

Tastes great, less filling.

Yo momma is so-so...

Sir Barfs-a-lot.

It's enough to make you sick to the stomach.

It goes on and on and on...

Spoofed.

Have I reached inflammation?

No, try dialing 4-1-1.

Not very remote.

They'll get the remote when they pry it from his cold, dead hands.

A time that's very remote.