“Four more years! Four more years! Four more years!” The parole board chants, as I enter my hearing. This was not a good sign.

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My therapist told me I can ask him anything I want. So I asked him, ‘How does my lack of progress make you feel?’


Grim Reaper: You know why I’m here.

Me: Heavy drinking? Unhealthy diet? Texting and driving?

GR: You should’ve forwarded that chain email.


How come when my kid wants to show me something, she has to place it directly inside my cornea?


I should probably do some housework before they try to film the next Febreeze commercial here.


You can tell Tim Horton’s is a Canadian franchise, because my donut just apologized for making me fat.


Doctor, seeing scratch on my arm: oh geez, do you have a cat?

Me: …a daughter.


Who cares about throwing stones? How do people in glass houses hide when somebody knocks on the door?


Nope. Not gonna follow anyone whose name is upside down. I got enough problems.


[Folding my wife’s laundry after 7 years]

Pile 1 – I have folded these correctly
Pile 2 – I think I have folded these correctly
Pile 3 – I have no idea how to fold these
Pile 4 – I don’t even know what these are