I want you to take a sleeve of Thin Mints and line them up on the edge of the kitchen counter and when I'm hungry I can just bend over and sweep a cookie into my mouth like I'm scoring a goal in hockey.
If I have to beat you up to keep you safe, that’s just what I’ll do. It’s this kind of regard for others that makes me believe I’d be a good politician.
Hydrogenated and androgynous milky white love is all I have to offer you. Would you like me to pour it in your coffee, or directly into your soul?
I’ve got a sizeable retirement nest egg. It’s an ostrich egg, and it’s going to make an omelet so big that it’ll produce enough leftovers for decades.
Who leads the world in consumption? America! Who has more lawyers per capita? America! Who has the highest incarceration rate? America! What is the greatest country on earth? America!
I know great art when someone doesn’t wash their hands after making it. And not only did Duchamp not wash his hands, but he didn’t even flush!
Scars exist to show that I existed. I myself don’t have any scars, but every single one of my friends has a healed up knife wound deep in their back.
I’m not exactly sympathetic, but I do have a big heart. I have to, to be able to pump all the blood required to operate my massive penis.
Education will only take you so far. To go even further, I’d recommend getting a piggyback ride from a midget half your body weight.
A mafia don could snap his fingers and somebody would snap my neck. But when I snap my fingers, people start dancing. Or at least my clones would.
My grandpa died yesterday. I ought to know, because I shot him. So come, join me in the fight against patricide by killing your father’s father.
One day I’ll have my appointment with death, and every day I call out to God to see if I can reschedule for a later date.
Nearly all of the men I admire are dead, because admiration is fueled by mystery. And what's more mysterious than death? Nothing. Well, besides women, of course.
The state of North Carolina, Daisy, and John Wayne walked into a bar, and I shouted, “Duke!” and the bartender threw me out, because he was a Chapel Hill fan, and I was drunk.
Feathers blowing in the wind is no more a bird than a pile of crumpled up receipts from champagne, chocolate, and flower purchases is a true indication that a man loves a woman.
I didn’t set out to discover Truth. I was simply hungry and digging deep in the back of the fridge and boom! there it was. And I’ve got to tell you, the Truth was tasty.
My friend had sex with half of all the women in the city. I think he had sex with the lower half of all the women.
Not only do I not believe in not believing in God, I’m also a big supporter of crutches, canes, walkers, and anything that helps support man through difficult times.
If silence is the admission of guilt, then she must be really guilty, because last night I asked her a question and instead of answering, she went to sleep for eight hours.
I wonder if rooms in an insane asylum have Do Not Disturb signs for the doors. I should hope not, because knock or no knock, every occupant in those rooms is already disturbed.
The reason it’s hard for men to say “I love you” is because those three words represent 10% of the average man’s vocabulary.
