Columbus was born around 1492. I say around because before that the world was flat. My stomach also used to be flat, but now it looks like a globe is about to be born.
Don’t point your accusatory finger at me, unless you want me to wrap my hand around it, grip it tight, and jerk it off. That’s how a real politician defers blame.
My sheets are so white they look like Google’s homepage. They even have a touch of red on them, from that double homicide back in December.
I’m hypoglycemic and squeamish and liable to pass out at the first sign of blood. That happened this morning. I came into the kitchen and found blood on the floor, right next to a few dead hookers.
I want to grow a tan and an accent, then dig it out of my garden and staple it to my naked body. I like Salmon Rushdie like a bear would. Especially with a honey glaze.
When I have children I want an even number of boys and girls, and that’s why I want 15 kids—7 boys, 7 girls, and one hermaphrodite named Sam.
He was thoughtless, not because he was insensitive, but because I had just eaten his brain and his skull was empty.
Though my skull is the size of a soup bowl, everything in the universe—and more—can fit inside my imagination. And guess what? My imagination tastes like chicken noodle soup.
What I lack in courage I more than make up for in underwear. I am possibly the bravest coward to ever go commando.
A counterfeit is a knock off. A cat’s tail swiping a knickknack placed perilously close to the edge of a shelf is also a knock off. How do you think my heart got broken?
I hired a counterfeiter the other day. I told him, “As for your salary, how much you make is really up to you.” I love a business model where the employee pays the employer.
I’ve often been told I fight like a girl, probably because from the moment I whip off my bra, my opponent knows I mean business.
Come buy from me what you could rent elsewhere. Like a Like button or a wiggly wrench—or donuts that yesterday would have been free at the store next to mine.
To be environmentally friendly, I’d ride my stationary bike to work. I hope my career works out, because it feels like I'm just spinning my wheels.
Like the Grand Canyon, I care deeply. Hop on a donkey and you’ll see how deeply I love you!
There was fried chicken in the litter box, so I helped myself and took a shit. I am a cat lover and a fan of KFC. I always take mine to go.
Maybe I could hear better if my ears weren’t flipped inside out. Unlike a cat’s ears, you can’t tell mine are flipped over. But they must be, because I only seem to listen to myself.
Love reminds me of when I was six and had a pet goldfish named “Silverbird” that I carried around the house, petting it like a cat. Needless to say it died. So I ate it.
I wear my love like a sweater made out of kitten licks. Weezer wrote about my love with their song, “The Sweater Song.” Cats find that song very cleansing.
If green carpet grew on trees instead of leaves, I’d pick off a few cats—with my rifle.
Some things change, and some things stay the same. The things that change are the things that I wish stayed the same, and the things that stay the same are the things I wish changed.
