I hate when I get so stoned that I can barely feel my legs and arms and antlers and wings.

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My sons kidnappers: if u ever want to see your son alive, press 1. Para Español marque dos
Me: ugh i just want to speak to a real person


The guy I paid to pave my driveway hasn’t shown up in two weeks.

I’m not worried tho. I’m sure he’ll resurface one day.


*cooking dinner*

Omg this smells SO good. The kids are gonna hate it.


I don’t respect Aquaman, because I can’t respect a hero whose arch nemesis is that plastic drink holder that you find on a six pack of cans.


The plot thickens.

Mostly because my grave digger had no idea just how fat I was.


Satan: Have you decided to sell your soul?

Me: Not exactly.

S:Then why summon me if you’re not selling?

M: I would like to sell footmats that reads ‘welcome to hell’.

S:pfft!, I already got that.

M:OK, but are they Lego footmats?

S:Woah! Do you collect cash or credit?


I’m gonna cook tons of bacon, crush it up and sell it for extra money to support my family.

Bacon Bad


I’m just going to put an “Out of Order” sticker on my forehead and call it a day.


Hit a squirrel with my car on the way home from the grocery store. If I knew that was going to happen, I wouldn’t have bought all this meat.


[feeding the cat]

Me: Here’s your food, Buddy.

Cat: Buddy is the dog’s name.

Me: Gosh, you’re right. Sorry.

Cat: I’m really hurt.


Cat: JK, I never listen to a fricken thing you say anyway.