All men think they're great kissers. Just like you think you're the only decent driver on the road." "Maybe, but I am. Amazing kisser. Dangerously amazing. Your panties would, like, disintegrate, I'm such an awesome kisser.
I only sing in the shower. I would join a choir, but I don’t think my bathtub can hold that many people.
A cat purring on your lap while you sip hot tea, is there anything better? Oh, and you’re floating in a zero gravity environment.
I saw something scary. It was a boy, asking me what I’m doing naked in his father’s fridge. Dinner party’s over.
I want to move to Hollywood and audition for parts just so I can say, “I’m not an actor. I just play one on TV.
Dear 30 years old, why are you stalking me? Please leave me alone or I’ll be forced to alert the authorities.
You can’t become a famous garage band if you never perform outside your garage. That’s why my band plays in my driveway.
I watch basketball like I watch baseball: I don’t. I’d much rather watch grass grow. Actually, golf isn’t that bad.
She probably thinks I have the clothes of a millionaire. And I do, but they’re still on his body, which is still in the trunk of my car.
I just bought a can of brown paint. It’s more expensive than coffee, but I really hit the wall after I chug it.
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.
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.
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?
I’m creative, I make up almost everything. But with all my creativity, I couldn’t make up with my wife.
I could be the man of your dreams. I could also be the alarm clock, stealing you away from the man of your dreams.
The difference between me and a scientist is a little word called “Science.” I don’t believe in it. Science has yet to validate my disbelief in Bigfoot.
It’s hard to type with gloves on. It’s also hard to type with just an erection. It’s basically like typing with one finger, and in my case, a pinky.
The future seems so crowded to me. All I see is me, me, me, me, me and a million other clones of myself.
A feather taped to a vibrator is a tickling machine to induce hunger, and NOT a sex toy. So you won’t have to ask if you see it in my fridge.
My clones better not wear invisible cloaks. How am I supposed to find myself as a person if I can’t even find my clones?
