A book on war is useful, but it’d be even more useful if it could shoot bullets. Or stop them. Or stop illiteracy. Oh, If only Congress could read what they sign into law.
I would have enjoyed “Naked Lunch” that day, but the cafeteria served us all clothing. I like my meals a little more scandalous. I should eat in the library, along with the other gluttonous nudists.
When I have children I want an even number of boys and girls, and that’s why I want 15 kids—7 boys, 7 girls, and one hermaphrodite named Sam.
Boys will be boys. Well, some boys will be girls.
Though my skull is the size of a soup bowl, everything in the universe—and more—can fit inside my imagination. And guess what? My imagination tastes like chicken noodle soup.
My clone will have my mind, but I don’t mind. Two heads are better than one—especially when those two are one and the same.
I had a dream about your brain. I wish I could eat my dream.
What I lack in courage I more than make up for in underwear. I am possibly the bravest coward to ever go commando.
A brick could be used to represent my hero. My hero obviously doesn’t look like a brick, but since he is my hero I decided to represent him as more handsome and interesting than he really is. Who’s my hero? Any member of Congress.
What is the greatest mystery of the universe? The answer is brick. Or is it blanket? I forget which one.
A counterfeit is a knock off. A cat’s tail swiping a knickknack placed perilously close to the edge of a shelf is also a knock off. How do you think my heart got broken?
I made plans out of hope, expectation, desire, and duct tape, and I broke those plans with my bare hands.
I hired a counterfeiter the other day. I told him, “As for your salary, how much you make is really up to you.” I love a business model where the employee pays the employer.
I’m the sort of businessman who goes in to buy a lime, and comes out with a lemon. I’m shrewd like that. I’m the same with cars. If you ever need help buying a used car, let me know.
You gotta run more than your mouth to escape the treadmill of mediocrity. A true hustler jogs during the day, and sleepwalks at night.
I’ve often been told I fight like a girl, probably because from the moment I whip off my bra, my opponent knows I mean business.
I know a lot about forming personal connections with people. Not from, you know, personal interaction or anything, but from reading about it alone, in silence.
While lunch and conversation lasted roughly an hour, not at all a lot of time, I came away feeling like I’d known Zach for years. It was as if we’d grown up together and we’d been best friends since high school, which is ridiculous because in h...
