My son kneed himself on the trampoline.

*black eye forming

Me: Son, we need to come up with a better story than this.

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This hangover feels like the kids lunches are going to be a brown paper bag with a handful of change, and a note that says ‘buy something’.


I have a particular set of skills, skills that allow me to open beer cans so no one in the house knows I’m drinking.


Him: You smell good. What are you wearing?
Me: Just a bit of Ham & Cheese Hot Pocket.


I’ll bet Timmy would never have fallen down that well if his parents would’ve coughed up the money for a HUMAN instead of a dog babysitter.


“Have you tried… not thinking about skeletons?” my therapist asks.

I look at her.

I look at the skeleton inside her trying to trick me.


Of course everyone seems sexy in a nightclub.

There’s liquor and you can’t hear them.


[buying cucumber and vaseline]
me: got an awesome night planned
clerk: eugh
[later, eating a cucumber and vaseline sandwich]
this is awful


Woody: lol u guys! u guys. come hear this shit


Woody: say it again

Buzz: [sighs] to infinity and beyond

Mr. Potatohead: lmao “AnD bEyOnD” does he not understand what infinity means