It was on a lazy Sunday of goomba-stomping and glory-basking that I suddenly realized, "Hey, it's on!" And I don't mean "on" like Ted Danson in blackface, either. We're talking "on" like a toasted egg and cheese sandwich (hold the mayo). It's on like rocket pops and licorice ropes. Who shot J.R.? It's on! Like burrito sauce floors in subway station bathrooms. Like a girl with two mothers. Like Will Smith tied to the wing of a 747. Man, it's definitely on like all that shit! Bienvenidos, domo arigato, Volkswagen... it’s on worldwide, yo! Whatever happened to baby Jane? It’s on. Alice Cooper? It’s on. Burnin’ down the house? Damn. It’s on in a big suit. Anyway, yes, I’ve been drinking. No, I’m still not your dad. Are you gonna finish that? I’ll trade you my banana for that Snack Pack. Hell yeah! It’s on!