I was thirty five years old before I realized that a hamlet wasn’t an omelette with ham.
Never thought I’d have to know a guy who knows a guy to buy toilet paper.
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5yo: I know what the middle finger means.
5yo: It’s bad.
Me: It’s alright. You can say it.
5yo: It means you want to fight god.
I have this fantasy that all lights go out in the world when I’m at the grocery store. While everyone panics, I grab a head of broccoli, stab the base with a carrot, and light it like a torch.
Look, I never said I was any good at fantasy, you guys.
My first language is typo.
my wife loves it when one of the kids prays before dinner and they say “please God i hope this food is good”.
Remember that tiny bit of constructive feedback that you went out of your way to specifically tell me not to take personally? You’re not gonna believe this.
Oh, a BEAR hug. *starts putting clothes back on*
<—–Will never confess the actual number of house cats he’s forced outdoors when the owner wasn’t looking
Friend: I think you have a problem with overusing contractions.
Me: It’s what it’s.
Pro debating tip:
Shave one eyebrow and draw a new one really high.