I hate when my congressman emails me to “take action” on an issue. Dude, you’re the one in congress, you do something.

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Never date a chemist, they seduce you with their magnetism, only call you periodically, then one day: Boom! They Argon.


Funny how people freak out over tiny spiders, but pull a giant one out of the ocean and everyone’s all let’s rip it’s legs off and dip ‘em in butter.


*crawls back up a waterslide for 2 hours* did you say “go dudette” or “no not yet”


NRA member: I’ve got guns. I’m in charge.

Me: That’s nice. I’ve got bubonic plague – “cough, cough” – now you do, too.

I win.


Don’t cut yourselves ’cause Justin smokes pot, Beliebers. Cut yourselves ’cause you listen to Justin Bieber. (And aim for a major artery.)


Me: My son totaled another car.

Progressive: I see that you insure 3 teen sons?

M: yes

P: *covers phone* HEY GUYS, WE’RE GOING TO ARUBA!


Therapist: and what do we do when we’re feeling sad?

Me: put on a flowy duster and a fringed scarf and sing along to Landslide on repeat while we sway back and forth and channel the goddess Stevie

Therapist [downloading Fleetwood Mac]: this session is on me


Turn your proctologist into a magician by stuffing 45 feet of scarves in your butt.


Never trust a homeless person selling warm lemonade