“Hmm. I could really use a burger right now. I think I’ll hit the Carl’s Jr. on Broadway.”
“If you take yourself to fast food one more time I’m going to enter into a murder-suicide pact with the guy in the mirror. Douche bag.”
Imagine talking to yourself in the grocery line. “Look at this idiot. It clearly says 8 or less items.” “Ewww! He’s this fat bastard is buying hemorrhoid cream. I’d hate to be his index finger.” “Ah, come on! Who puts canned peaches on a Visa?”
A guy could get into a fight easily if he talked to himself in the grocery line.
It reassures me to see the “employees must wash hands before returning to work” sign on the back side of the restroom door. But I see a missed opportunity. As long as they’ve got the employees' attention, why not remind them “employees must remember not to screw drive-thru customers out of their fries?” Or how about, “if you wouldn't have majored in Anthropology, you wouldn't be flipping' burgers. Now grab a mop, McIndiana Jones.”
My proctologist needs a stool sample, but I don't give a shit.
Whenever I complain about Blogger's crappy service, somebody points out that it's free. Well, so is having sex with me. But I try to do a decent job at least. Jeez!
"Hey, LBB can you not punch me in the back of the head when you do me from behind?"
"Hey, quit complaining. I'm doing you for free."
Why do fashions make a comeback every twenty years? It's like we all get together and say, "Hey, this wasn't that stupid. In fact, it was pretty cool." Then we wear it for a few months and think, "You know, this was pretty gay. I no longer wish to be a member of Member's Only."
I realized God has a sense of humor when I noticed that every time I prayed to win the lottery, the next day I got a jury summons in the mail.
Super glue now comes in different formulas. You can buy one for wood, plastic, cement, wood-on-cement, plastic-on-glass. Or you can buy the one I keep buying on accident -- index-finger-on-middle finger. Finger fusion formula seems to be the only one that works. The things I'm trying to stick together won't hold for 30 seconds, but once I glue my fingers together I can't separate them with battery acid and a blow torch.
I know men and women have different preferences for the toilet seat's stand-by position. I'm open-minded about the debate. But something bothers me. I've asked women why it's so important to leave the toilet seat down, and several of them have told me that if it isn't down, they'll accidentally sit on it and FALL IN! These women weren't kidding. According to women, falling in is a risk of leaving the seat up.
HOW THE HELL CAN THAT BE?
Here’s some advice: Inspect any area upon which you plan to place your ass. I'm not a type-A personality, nor do I suffer from obsessive/compulsive neurosis. Nevertheless, I always check conditions before I put my ass anywhere. It just makes sense. A precursory assay of the thing you plan to use for a seat is necessary to avoid injury, embarrassment, and foreign bodies accidentally lodged in the rectum.
Unless you're Hellen Keller or as drunk as Ted Kennedy at a martini-tasting contest, it shouldn't matter whether the toilet seat is up or down.
Incidentally, why do commercials tell you about the designs on toilet paper? You wipe your ass with it. Does it really need to be pretty? I don't care what it looks like, as long as it doesn’t contain any sandpaper, fiberglass or jalapeno.
Do you realize that someday, somebody's going to shoot somebody and the bullet is going to hit the victim in a pack of Life Savers candy he has in his pocket, and the Life Savers will actually have saved his life! I can't wait for that to happen because it'll be really cool and plus they can make it into a great commercial for Life Savers. Unless the bullet is strong enough to go through, in which case it'll just be ironic.