A Quote by Rodney Dangerfield

I was so ugly my parents had to hang a pork chop around my neck to get the dog to play with me. — © Rodney Dangerfield
I was so ugly my parents had to hang a pork chop around my neck to get the dog to play with me.
My dog keeps looking at me as if he knows my secret, as if he and he alone can see my soul. That or he wants this pork chop.
It was my pork chop. But that's ok. I ate his dog food.
As for meat, I'm not going to become vegetarian. I'm telling you that right now. I want me a steak. I want me a pork chop. I want me a lamb chop, even a piece of duck every once in awhile. We used to have ham and salami, all that crazy stuff. I can't eat processed food. I've got to find local farmers and get natural foods.
The factory farm is . . . an obvious moral evil so sickening and horrendous. . . All this so we can have our accustomed veal or lamb or fried chicken or pork chop or hot dog.
As for meat, I'm not going to become vegetarian. I'm telling you that right now. I want me a steak. I want me a pork chop. I want me a lamb chop, even a piece of duck every once in awhile. We used to have ham and salami, all that crazy stuff.
I love watching a single pork chop seasoned with garlic and shallots cook and see the fat bubble around it.
Hef is boring to cook for. He likes a total of four main dishes: fried chicken, pot roast, pork roast and pork chop sandwich!
Left me here to cry alone with a bottle of juice and pork chop bone.
The professionals resemble and recognize each other by virtue of the stigmata that their trade has left upon them. They are like the dog in the fable, whose collar has made an indelible mark around his neck. The amateur is the shaggy wolf whom no dog had better trust too far.
You call to a dog and a dog will break its neck to get to you. Dogs just want to please. Call to a cat and its attitude is, 'What's in it for me?'
Do you speak Chopnese huh? Do ya? Chop chop chop chop chop. Aha you don't.
There is poetry in a pork chop to a hungry man.
I'm such a foodie. If I see a pork chop, I'm eating it.
If you come to The Kitchen and get a pork chop with polenta, which is our kind of food - simple - there is only one way it should taste at The Kitchen.
My parents got divorced. Early and ugly. My mum was nuts so I lived with my dad. We used to play a father/son games. Pin the blame on me, rock, paper, get me another beer, casino night.
Volunteering is as Iowan as pork chop on a stick at the State Fair.
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