I’m a man of leisure. That’s because I have an English degree and can’t get a job.
If laughter came in paste format you could squeeze out of a tube, I’ll bet nine out of ten dentists would recommend comedy before bed. The tenth doctor, having just read Tolstoy as deliberately mistranslated by Dora J. Arod, would probably recommen...
Abstain from reading comedy or other government economic statistics.
I once got 7th place in a swim meet. Being top 8 is an accomplishment, especially when you consider that including me, there were seven competitors.
I’m not good at talking. Can’t I just nod my way through a conversation? It’s better than nodding off.
I don’t have any money to speak of. And if I did, what’s there to say? They say money talks, but it doesn’t talk to me. Money won’t even look at me half the time.
After I speak, my words merge with the wind, and if you’re listening, your ears act like sails and carry the conversation.
I want to write the world’s worst cookbook, which I’ll title: “The World’s Worst Cookbook.” It’ll feature recipes from “Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” (peanut butter, jelly, and bread), to “Roasted Roadkill and Hitchhiker’s Sur...
Insider trading is a serious crime. Do you know what the penalty for doing it is? Nothing, if you’re a member of Congress.
There’s a relentless wave of WTF coming out of Washington DC.
To be surrounded by sixty people who make your life miserable is to be at a family reunion. But to be surrounded by 600,000 people who make the whole world miserable is to live in Washington DC.
My favorite flower is the tulip. I’m crazy like Holland about them. I’ll even pay as much as $1,637 for one.
A writer should be a recluse. Why share words with a few friends in the moment when they can be written down in solitude and shared with everybody at any time?
Dream dialogue: -Don’t cry. I, too, know what it’s like to be different. -But I’m not different. I’m normal, I’m average, and that’s why I’m crying.
I saw him do a No More Potatoes Dance, after he saw me stuff the last of the mashed potatoes in my pocket.
My shoes are scuffed and dirty from dancing. The grave of my enemy is where I go to find my inner Astaire.
I didn’t fire my gun. I gave it a promotion.
She asked me if I was seeing anybody else, and I said, No, the other woman is invisible.
I went on a blind date—with a descendent of Helen Keller.
I went on a date last night and things went well. If you must know, I got lucky. I found a four-leaf clover.
When I found him lying in the ditch holding a shovel, I thought he was sleeping on the job. Turns out he was being even lazier, and he was in fact dead.
