I am the red wheelbarrow of communism. William Carlos Williams wrote a poem about me.
Let the best of your competition take out the rest of your competition, while you rest and then take out only that one guy.
Turn the fan off when I’m talking. It not only makes my words colder, but it distorts and dilutes what I’m saying.
I wish my stove came with a Save As button like Word has. That way I could experiment with my cooking and not fear ruining my dinner.
If liquid courage smelled like cologne and gushed out of my penis, I’d make a better fire fighter than I’m not right now.
When I jog it’s like a dancing dog. Well, it’s more of a foxtrot.
I want to be the first and second man to dance on the moon. No, I won’t moonwalk. But I will Cha Cha—with my clone.
Music is inaudible to deaf people, just as dancing is invisible to me.
If a woman asked me how far I’d go on a first date, my reply would be 69 miles. Round trip, not one way.
If I were facing a firing squad, I’d ask them to hold on just one second, because I have a wedgie and it is very uncomfortable. Let me adjust myself, and then you can shoot me.
The ultimate weapon is Lady Gaga’s music. Why kill the enemy when you can play her music and they’ll want to kill themselves?
When all the trees are dead, I’ll be there, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice.
Like eggs, I’m scrambling to get ahead in this economic depression.
In a depression, attendance to sporting events goes down, while the percentage of people fornicating goes up, because sex is free. I know, some of you are probably thinking, Free! Where do I find those hookers?!
I’m creative, I make up almost everything. But with all my creativity, I couldn’t make up with my wife.
Dream nonsense: Character: Hey, how are you? Me: I’m tired. I mean, this is a dream, so I must be, right?
Salmon swim against my stream of consciousness.
After learning the foreign language Gibberish, I became a dream spokesman.
I could be the man of your dreams. I could also be the alarm clock, stealing you away from the man of your dreams.
I write down my dreams. I use the excuse “I’m writing” to sleep all the time.
If you expect others to think for you, then you expect others to live your life for you. And I’m sorry, but the only person I’ll let live my life for me is my clone. He thinks like me, so I’m OK with him thinking for me.
