How come there's no parking for midgets? You ever notice that? Not one spot in the fucking mall for midgets. Unbelievable. You want to know why? 'Cause there's no telethon for midgets. Nobody gives a fuck. The kind of humidity you get in Manhattan during the summer... by the time you even get to the front doors of the mall, they're passing out. You've got to piss on them to revive them. And I love midgets with those pumpkin heads, little bug legs. I never fucked one, I'll admit that. But I would do it. They're people. So they're a little light, all right. So, so you stick 'em on your dick, you can shave, shower, they don't get in the way. You throw 'em in a drawer when you're done. "Yeah, use my socks as a pillow honey." "Wait, a mouse went under the table, get the fucker." Could you imagine being a maitre d at a fancy restaurant and a couple midgets come in for dinner? What do you say? “Table for, ugh, I don't know, fuck, three quarters?" Midgets, man. What do they do when a midget is missing? Put 'em on the back of a container of Half & Half?"
Andrew Dice Clay