I wonder what will happen to a generation that grows up without Seinfeld. Without any knowledge of Seinfeld. You can extoll his hilarity to the skies, his timing, his characters, his whatever, but in my books, Jesus H Christ, it's about the language. That's not all—not by a long shot, but there are so many signature lines. Really.
- Get out!
- The sea was angry that day, my friends.
- No soup for you!
- I'm going out on a high!
- The Manziere
- man-hands
- Jerry! Newman!
I could go on.
Back in the day, the Copywriter and I used to talk-giggle Seinfeld all the time. "How fucking funny is he?" we'd ask each other, already agreed on the answer.
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