Me: Hey, how came you never hook me up with any of your friends?
Cheri: Because I like them.
Tom: I refuse to eat there?
Me: Why?
Tom: They put all the fixings on the bottom bun of the hamburger.
Me: So?
Tom: You’re either bottom bun guy or a top bun guy. Which one are you?
Me: Honestly, I don’t care.
Tom: Dude, that’s un-American. Get out of my car.
Mike: Clay just referred to us as white guys.
Me: We are white.
Mike: But on the phone, he just said he was hanging out with a couple of white guys.
Me: Once again, Mike, we are white.
Mike: That’s racist. How would he feel if I called up my girlfriend and told her I was hanging out with a black dude?
Me: He is black.
Mike: You’re having a hard time getting past the obvious here. We, as a culture, are not supposed to put significance in skin color. Clay is being racist.
Me: I think you’re reading way too much into this. We’re white, he’s black and no matter who we tell, that won’t change. I mean, what do you want to do here?
Mike: Nathan, all I want is interracial harmony.
Clay [hanging up phone]: What did you say?
Mike: Why you gotta refer to us as white guys?
Clay: You are white.
Mike: Stop laughing, Nathan. You’re being racist, Clay. I don’t like being categorized by my skin color. I want an apology.
Clay: Umm, okay. Mike, Nate, I’m sorry that I told my black friend that I was hanging out with two of my white friends. In the future, I’ll try to be more sensitive to issues of race.
Mike: That’s better. I accept your apology.
Me: What the hell just happened here?
Mike: Interracial harmony, Nathan. Interracial harmony.
Mike: Only us guys and under-wire can support Hooters.
Sean: That should be on a billboard.
Me: Michael Jackson got off.
Mike: Really, what was the little boy’s name?
Sean: Oh, that was bad.
Ben: What’s the difference between a pile of dead babies and a ’57 Cadillac?
Me: Okay, what?
Ben: I don’t have a Cadillac in my garage.
Me: Hillsborough County is refusing to provide police and public services for any gay and lesbian-pride activities.
Brian: That’s gay.
Me: Hey, it looks like we’ll get hockey back next year.
Danielle: Hockey? You mean the sport?
Me: Yeah.
Danielle: Whadda ya mean, get it back? Did it go somewhere?
Me: There was a lockout. The season was canceled.
James: And yet she can tell you every girl Justin Timberlake’s ever dated.
Me: Amazing.
Mike: The NBA playoffs suck so bad this year. Your columns are more entertaining.
Me: I’m touched, Mike.
Mike: Don’t mention it.
Me: I’m so hungry I could eat the snot out of your nose.
Nicole: That’s great dinner conversation, Nathan. What do you do for an encore, tell me I look fat in this outfit?
Me: You’re so beautiful, I could eat the snot out of your nose.
Nicole: Wow, it’s amazing how easily you turned that into a compliment.
Deanna: Who do you think has a bigger ego, Nate or Mike?
Stephanie: That’s a tough call. They’re both cocky pricks.
Me: You know, we’re right here?
Stephanie: We know.
Brain: I want a cigarette.
Me: You just smoked one.
Brain: Yes, that is true. That does not, however, preclude me from wanting another one.
Me: Touché
Nickel: So, I guess you heard I’m pregnant.
Me: Congratulations.
Brain: Uh, Nate, I don’t think that’s one of those “congratulations” pregnancies.
Nurse Lady: On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate this pain?
Me: Hold on a second. I’m not great with math. Let’s see? Carry the one, divide by the multiplier…. Uh, 1.79.
Nurse Lady: We’ll call that a 2, smartass.
Me: Sold to the smartass with the busted hand.
Jen: What happened to your hand? Wait—don't tell me. Let me see the scars and guess.
Me: Okay, what's your guess?
Jen: Let's see… knowing you, it either has to do with some freaky chick or a really mad guy. I got it! You were having sex on a glass table and you broke it.
Me: Close. I was moving a piece of glass furniture and it broke on me.
Jen: Jeez, that is so lame. Next injury, I want to hear about a chick with whips and chains. Or at least a decent bar fight.
Me: Yes Ma’am. Sorry to disappoint.