A waitress leaves me alone after I give her the tip.
J
One's an algorithm, and the other's an Al Gore-ism!
I bought all my wife's birthday presents there before she left me.
Once you're done enjoying the legs, thighs and breasts your left with a greasy box to stick your bone in.
One's a hairy beast that spits and the other's native to South America.
I reply "Taxes."
You only get paid in tips.
Because they always *tip*.
IHOP. Tipping your waitress takes on a whole new meaning.