Fantasy: Emotionally, I am more stable than a 1000-year-old Sequoia. Reality: I faked a cat allergy when my wife caught me crying at Toy Story 3.
First, remember what you named the file. “Invention idea: the wheel”? “Wheel stuff”? “Wheel deets”? Maybe just “wheel”?
For the fourth time this month you’re asking yourself: am I on a date with Hall-of-Famer Shaquille O’Neal wearing an elaborate disguise?
Visitors can tell which piece of furniture is your favorite just by looking at what has the most stains.
Can’t you see how clean my oven is? How filed my taxes are? How very walked my dog is? And yet, the thing is still not done.
Instead of scrutinizing the position of my butt, I would suggest admiring the lack of buttress in the position of my savings account.
By birth order or circumstantial trauma, you have been designated as the emotional backbone of the household.
Love is something you’re in, like tall boxes you can’t jump high enough to see over the edge of, or escape from, or scream loud enough for someone to hear you and cut a hole in to rescue you.
Children should be seen and not run over.
Why don’t aliens wear clothes? Because it’s always dark in space.
Gamer Dogs: Dogs playing poker / Dogs cheating at poker / The puppies in the Puppy Bowl
CAUTION: I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again. You’re probably thinking: “Why would a soft, soft teddy bear kill a baby?"
Oh lord, here comes my nemesis: the dessert menu! If I get a slice of the tres leches cake, you’ll all have a bite, right?
A Western omelette from a bodega served in a Styrofoam tray: You are a nihilist and people should actually be afraid of you.
