The year is 2073. My wife and I rest in side by side burial plots. Waking up in the middle of the night our 57yo son, for reasons beyond his understanding, digs a horizontal hole between us and gets in.

His head near his mother and his feet kicking my corpse, he sleeps.

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“Wearing horizontal stripes will make you look bigger and really stand out.”

Young Waldo: (whispering) Some day I’ll prove you wrong.


I just saw the movie “A star is born” and if you think it’s about the solar system you will probably be as mad as I am rn


Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just think, there are people out there who don’t get to read my tweets.


No, I’m not dressing up as something sexy. I’m sexy 364 days of the year. I’m dressing up as the Predator.


I just want to be wealthy enough to leave notes for the house-sitter like “If the puma seems restless, let him splash in the Jacuzzi a bit.”


I don’t mean to complain but Disney Jr and YouTube have done a terrible job of raising my kids.


My town is so aggressive with recycling and waste collection that an alarm clock basically isn’t necessary. Monday mornings, it’s bottles and cans. Tuesday and Friday it’s garbage. Wednesday is paper and cardboard. Thursday is children up to age five, ONLY in approved containers.


Twinkle twinkle little star,
I want to hit you with a car,
Throw you off a street so high,
Hope you break your neck and die.


It looks like bathroom tai chi but it’s me trying to trigger the automatic paper towel dispenser.


It’s nice that friends keep picking up my kids for play dates.

It’d be even nicer if they’d stop bringing them back home.