Kissing the back of someone’s neck is a sensuous thing to do.
Unless it’s a stranger in a queue in Primark.
My wife’s story about her day had 18 sub plots, two false finishes, buried the lead and introduced a new character in the third act.
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She might be Satan, but if I’m going to hell, I want to be sleeping with the boss.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Louder for the tape?”
“I’m a pig rapper. I make farmyard hiphop.”
In Hell, someone is constantly vacuuming while you’re trying to explain directions to an old man.
[Me, on my deathbed]
Wife: Is that what you’re going to wear?
I’ve just turned a mortgage payment into wine.
Your move, Jesus.
I’ve never been skydiving, but I’ve zoomed in on Google Earth really really fast.
Apparently, the words “I’d still hit it” are words best kept to yourself at a funeral
ME: thereâ€™s a full moon this Easter, you know what that means
THEM: werewolf Jesus?
ME: *cocking shotgun* werewolf Jesus
“That looks interesting. I think I’ll eat it.” – Sharks and Toddlers