I told my doctor my penis was as thin as a spaghetti noodle. I asked if there was anything I could do to bulk it up, and he said, “Yeah, tell your girl to twirl it on a fork before she puts it in her mouth.
When I’m in a relationship, I love like a burrito. And if you’re a taco, don’t talk to me. At our core we may seem similar, but trust me, we are two different items on the menu.
I could name my penis Steve, and it would be appropriate, as it is sort of shaped like my dad’s face, whose name is Steve. Not just his face, but his whole body and person is named Steve. And he’s a dick.
I applied for your love like a recent MBA grad might apply at Walmart today. I grew a beard on my chest and laughed through my ass just to get your attention.
Agatha had so much love she could fill a room. A room filled with strange men, which she often did. I don’t care if every single man in that room looked exactly like me, they were strangers.
To me love is like a cup of soapy dishwater. Sure, I’ll drink it, but I won’t swish it around in my mouth while you try to stuff filthy silverware down my throat.
A customer facing crucial decisions: What should I wipe myself with? What should I brush with? His personal hygiene was deteriorating rapidly as he stared at the rows of possibilities, sweating profusely. Would he ever bathe again?
If I could convert my love into clay, and then shape it, I wonder if Agatha would expect a Rodin or a Branscusi. In reality it would be neither, as my love sculpture would look exactly like the Grand Canyon.
I left my phone number on a napkin, along with trace amounts of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread grease, hoping she’d call me. And when she didn’t, I panicked and filed a missing person’s report with the police.
While we’re at it, why don’t we add a third emotion to this list: lust. You are probably unaware that Linnaeus lumped the tomato into the same genus as the potato, a food with a reputation for its widespread availability and easy satisfaction of ...
I recently heard of a group called The Lipsticks who only sing Kiss hits, which reminds me of something weird I saw yesterday. I saw Elvis. And he was impersonating me.
What do you take me for? That fool Socrates, who upheld the law at the cost of his own death – just to be ironic? I suspect that act was actually the result of his secret embarrassment of his hideous nose.
For our third date, Agatha said she wanted to pay separately. And I wouldn’t have readily agreed had I known she also meant she wanted to eat separately too.
I’m on the west coast. I am Lewis and Clark. I am Lewis Clark. Like the time I got a Denver Omelet in Dallas with a girl named Charlotte Washington.
Speeding along I-10 last summer, heading west, I chased the sunset, thinking if I kept up I could extend my day indefinitely, or at least until I hit a major body of water.
Your life is a collection of body parts that could be used to save many people. And you’re not doing anything. What are you doing with your life that’s so important? Come on, let’s dissemble and discombobulate you for the greatest good for the ...
I’ve always wanted to kill someone by stealing their sound. If you’ve got no sound, you’ve got no voice. And it’s impossible to scream with no voice. So it’s like murdering a mime, only with less movement.
I live my life by a code. I drew on the Magna Carta for inspiration. It may have been the most expensive doodle ever. The British Library kicked me out, and threatened to prosecute me if they couldn’t repair the documents.
I killed my clone and I hid his body behind every mirror I’ll ever step in front of. I’m always surprised to see him, and I never fail to brush his teeth or gaze at his decomposing body.
Where is the pizza I ordered 33 minutes ago? I specifically called for pizza to be delivered. The pizza’s missing, and so is the delivery guy. I hope nobody finds his body in the woods, naked, with extra pepperoni covering his nipples.
The value of me is equal to 5097033198, but also 3051982. The first is my phone number, and the second is my birthday. I assign values to people. My fifth grade bus driver had a Cheeto factor of four.
