[in ambulance]
“Sir, do you know your blood type?”
“Yeah [coughs & points to wound] red.”

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[falling asleep, my hand dangles over the side of the bed]

[a pale ghostly hand emerges from under the bed, slides its cold dead fingers between mine]

Me, squeezing back: Awww.


No I will not change my password.

If someone wants this life, they can have it.


Sometimes sorry seems to be the hardest word, but usually it’s antidisestablishmentarianism.


Them: “I hate to be a…”

Me: “Then don’t.”


*eating before going in Costco*
“Now I won’t overeat samples*

[5 mins later]

*slams cup down*
“Hit me again”

“Sir, that was motor oil”


The store keeps calling me to come back and buy more bedroom furniture, but all I really wanted was one night stand.


my friend: so the new person you’re dating is another white guy named matt whose parents pay his rent?

me: yeah, but like, there’s something different about this one.

narrator: there was in fact not anything different about this one.