Suicide is selfish. Don’t take your own life—take someone else’s.
I am becoming morbidly obese as we speak. So what’s the solution? To stop talking.
I heard Africa was having a drought, so I mailed them a bucket of tears. Hope that helps, fellas.
I once saw a baby make a boom-boom in his diaper, and I thought, I didn’t know infants could be terrorists.
I’ve spent a decade trying to stuff 10 years into 5.
Even if I didn’t have to deal with traffic and could teleport, I’d still be late all the time. The only difference is my excuses would have to be more efficient.
I like hunting trees, because they don’t run away. I call it hunting, but others might call it farming.
Gain a person’s trust through numerous small acts of benevolence, so you can lose their trust in one large act of self-enrichment.
Rather than die for your country, how about being willing to live for it? You can start by waking up.
Most of the time, I feel like Phelps. At least when I’m not winning Olympic gold medals, which is an all the time thing for me.
You must overcome failure to succeed, and champions know how to lose. That’s why I don’t need to win to know that I’m a champion.
Chicks dig winners. That’s why I create my own awards for me to win.
I quartered a new word the other day. I didn’t just coin it, I flipped it and called in the air.
I put the anal in analysis. Now don’t you go putting your dick in my work.
Last night at work, I was short people. I was two midgets and a mute.
Too bad the buttons on my shirt don’t operate the elevator at work. If they did, maybe I wouldn’t have taken off my pants and taken the stairs.
I love hellos that last a lifetime, and goodbyes that are invisible, inaudible, and otherwise undetectable. Tell your mom I’m waving at her.
A squeegee is a sponge on a stick, and if there is a tangible item that’s more romantic, I don’t know what it is. Never go on a first date without one.
A can’t in a can—it’s carbonated failure that’s ready to drink. It tastes like the back half of love.
A turtle is like a lizard in a bicycle helmet, and I think that’s romantic. That reminds me, I should write a love song called, “Dinner for two—plus one.
I drive as fast as four tire swings hanging from a tree branch in the middle of winter. I also make love with as much speed and rotation.
