Stop a drunk driver and you stop a murderer—even if he hasn’t killed anyone yet. In all the alternate universes, the odds are he’s already killed—and will kill again.
Twitter—up to the minute minute details.
Twitter: Up to the minute details that are minute. I’d like to update and reaffirm my love for you every sixty seconds.
Love should be unconditional, while hair should be conditioned. Air should also be conditioned, and worn in place of hairnets.
I didn’t get your letter. I did receive it, but I didn’t understand it.
I’m an understanding guy, even when I’m standing over you.
Some people collect cars. I collect unemployment. Once my collection gets large enough, I’m going to start a country like the United States.
When two are united as one, I’ll be there. And so will someone else.
My hair isn’t turning gray. It’s actually silver, and it’s going up in value, so you’d better buy it before the currency is completely devalued.
I’m not selfish. I’d gladly give someone’s life, a more valuable life than my own, while I humbly preserve and keep my own meager life for myself.
I’d rather own something that’s worth millions to nobody, than something that’s worth nothing to millions.
I’m not rich in paper money, I’m rich in packets of sugar. Actually, I’m richer, because at least the packets of sugar have some real value.
He attacked me, so I had to slit his throat with a steak knife. But not before I splashed Worcestershire sauce all over it.
A bird was shot. I suspect fowl play. The next man to be shot is the man who wrote that pun. Excuse me while I load my gun and shoot myself.
You don’t need brass knuckles to discover if a man has a glass jaw. All you need to do is stick his face in a dishwasher, and then check for water spots.
I’ll stab you with a pointy thingy. Not a sword, a knife, or even a mountaintop. No, I’ll use my index finger—and just to make a point about violence.
He was a pleasant fellow, saying please and thank you as he pounded me in the face. That’s why I sent him a Get Well Soon card, since he was probably interested in my well-being.
He’s half blind,” Orafoura said. “Oh,” I said, “he’s only got one eye? They call that a Cyclops.” “No, he’s got two eyes,” Orafoura replied. “He’s half blind because he’s in love.
I want to pour your voice into a goldfish bowl before flushing it down the toilet.
Driving is better than walking, because hitting is better than being hit.
Sometimes I’ll be walking along, thinking, and I’ll kick up some dust and I’ll say, Whoa! That makes sense, and I’ll have just had an epiphany, and then forget all about it because I’ll get distracted by my dirty shoes.
