Life is a lot like jazz. It's best when you improvise.
I love my jazz hands!
Shut up and let me see your jazz hands.
Anyone who's just driven 90 yards against huge men trying to kill them has earned the right to do Jazz hands.
Nothing says “i came here to win” like jazz hands
I feel myself trying to be charming, and then I realize I’m obviously trying to be charming, and then I try to be even more charming to make up for the fake charm, and then I’ve basically turned into Liza Minnelli: I’m dancing in tights and sequins, begging you to love me. There’s a bowler and jazz hands and lots of teeth.
My husband makes fun of me, because I know I can use strong prose to jazz-hand my way through plot that isn't as interesting as I'd like it to be.
or simply: