Norm: Like I just ran over its dog.
Norm: My ideal weight if I were eleven feet tall.
Norm: My blood-alcohol level.
Norm: The Bobbsey twins go to the brewery. Let’s cut to the happy ending.
Norm: No, I’d like a dead cat in a glass.
I dunno, I usually finish them before they get a word in.
Norm: I’d like to see something in a size 54 sudzy.
Norm: Terrorists, Sam. They’ve taken over my stomach and they’re demanding beer.