When I die, I’m donating my body to Simons. I tell this to every Simon I meet. So far, they’re not into it
It’s like my dad always said: “Stop quoting me and come up with your own ideas.”
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On Fridays, I always dress for what the weather is going to be at 3am when I drunkenly lock myself out of my apartment.
It’s not about the sacrifices you have to make, it’s about making sure your knife is sharp and they can’t wiggle away.
“Will I ever live in a clean house again?”
*shakes magic 8 ball
*magic 8 ball explodes and makes a mess
Freak your cat out by running in the room, stopping abruptly to lick yourself and then running back out again.
Me: *unfreezes cro-magnon woman I uncover on an arctic expedition*
Cro-magnon woman: “I have a boyfriend.”
If the majority of twitter’s trending topics are any indication of the state of humanity thus far, we clearly need an asteroid intervention.
Dear President of Mexico,
DO NOT fall for Trump’s old trick where he mumbles “guypayingtobuildthewallsayswhat?” and you say “What?”
The sculpture of Amelia Earhart in the Burbank airport doesn’t give me that warm fuzzy feeling before flying.
Wife: I hate that thing
Me: My glass? It’s a souvenir from abroad!
Wife: It’s a mug from Mexico
Me: It’s a collector’s item!
Wife: It says “Jalapeno Poopers”
Me: You want me to toss it?
Wife: I want you to stop using it to serve scotch at dinner parties