I never understood “baby” as a term of endearment – like am I cute and innocent or there’s a chance I may cry a lot and make a huge mess in my pants. I need answers.

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My dog and I have the same schedule:

6 AM: Wake up
7 AM: Eat breakfast
8 AM: Use the bathroom on our neighbor’s lawn
9 AM: Play
10 AM: Nap


Masseuse: happy ending?
Me: oh yeah

*20 minutes later

Masseuse: …and then Tom Hanks shows up in the park and yells the dog’s name, and Meg Ryan just knows he’s the one she loved all along…
Me: OMG their love is so pure 😭


Chairman: I’d like everyone to go over what they chose as their mascots.

Burger King: A king.

Wendy’s: A joyous child.

Mcdonald’s: I didn’t know we- um, a clown? Like a big nasty clown.


Mcdonald’s: A big nugget. Maybe purple. No wait how about a moist little thief?


Boss: Why weren’t you at work last week?
Me: Why are you living in the past?


Just answered the door in my underpants. I said “Blimey, a talking door. What are you doing in my underpants?”


A flamingo in the streets and a lion in the sheets and a kangaroo at Target and I think Carl forgot to lock up the zoo last night.


When I watch The Walking Dead I can’t help but think those zombies are in way better shape than me.


Them: How can you hate someone you’ve never met?

Me: Oh. I can read.


That awkward moment when you can’t decide if it’s just a bad pic or you really look like that.


Look, I can still fit into my clothes from 10 years ago.
*pants split*
*buttons pop off*
*shirt seams tear*
Too bad the workmanship is so shoddy.