I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.
Then I saw her arguing with him about money.
Now I see Santa drinking by himself.
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Today’s spelling lesson:
On the lam: escaping from policeOn the lamb: escaping from life’s woes with a delightful sheep ride
[First date]
Him: Tell me about yourself.
Me: No.
Don’t ever be sad on a Saturday. Wait till Monday and cry on company time. Don’t let capitalism win!
the song firestarter, but it’s about my cooking skills
All I ask is that when I’m murdered, you make my chalk outline four sizes smaller.
*on a first date*
Her: so nice to finally be out with someone normal
Me: aw thanks
*turns to the waiter*
Me: do you have pony meat
ME: *movie trailer voice* coming this summer…
WIFE: not if you keep that shit up.
[eats all your cotton candy]
I wish I had enough talent as a dancer to disappoint my family by becoming a dancer
there are three types of writers;
1) those who plot their books
2) those who discover their plot along the way
3) those who know what will happen but their book is a bit feral still, needs a bath, has bitten and will bite again
Broke my ankle at 19 years old and didn’t miss a single day waiting tables. Last week I took 3 days off work because my cat had diarrhea.
It took a while but my friend finally convinced me that I am hanging with the wrong crowd. He said, “He dude, we’re over here, you don’t know those people.”
I could tell my parents truly loved me as a child. My bath toys were a toaster, radio and a blow dyer.
People are surprised when I tell them I don’t like cilantro. Mostly because I’m in their house unannounced
Him, sweaty from working out: Hey, babe, c’mere
Me: Don’t come any closer while you still have activity juice all over you
Aww you passed out, let’s see what you’ve got in your wallet, shall we?
My husband took 18 to a music festival and just texted me that he was “going in the mosh pit” and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I don’t think they call it that anymore and also he’s 49 and probably won’t survive that.
Me: I’m here for my photoshoot
X-ray technician: Please stop calling it that
Me: My dog ran away two days ago
Dog pound: Does he have a tag?
Me [covers phone to ask wife]: Is the dog on Instagram?
*on deathbed*
“Son u were *cough* ado-”
“Dad? I was adopted?!”
“A dot of misery on my otherwise happy life. I don’t know why we adopted u.”
If I got kidnapped I’d just be like, “fine – you worry about dinner now.”
Am I fun? No. Interesting? No. Dateable? Yes. I’d place me late 20th century.
In my family, we settle all disputes by pointing out the other’s short comings and failures and whoever starts crying first loses.
ME: *smashes bottle into a ship*
MAN: Oh cool, what are you naming it?
ME: I’m not *smashes another bottle* I just hate ships
I’m just a girl standing here wishing I was as thin as my patience
I’m working on a screenplay called ‘127 Seconds’ about my fat co-worker getting his hand stuck in a Pringles tube.
CITY PLANNER: what should we call the paved path next to the street
CRAB: i have an idea
HER: I have something I want to tell u
ME: me too
HER: *smiles coyly* same time?
ME: sure
HER: 1,2,3 I LOVE YO-
ME: ONE TIME I ATE DOG FOOD
People who say “go big or go home” seriously underestimate my willingness to go home. Like, it’s literally my only goal for most of the day.
My 4 year old took 2 hours and 3 separate sittings to eat a slice of cake. I don’t even know who this kid is anymore.