HR says I have to stop switching people’s vapes with kazoos.
Boss: Did you have anything to add?
Me: I totally agree. That’s why I only buy real butter.
Boss: Do… do you think this meeting is about the company’s gross margarine?
Whenever a news article says the world’s oldest person has died, they never mention the suspects. Who stands to gain from this? Did they have any enemies? What about the second oldest person? What’s their alibi?
It’s Journalism 101, people!
Thinking about switching my books to a freemium model. I could give away the basic version but charge extra for fun bonus features like plot, characters, and vowels.
I get so annoyed when horror movies begin with the family moving to a new house, and the parents say “This place will be good for us. We will finally be happy here.”
But you already know they’re not going to be happy, because the movie is called “The Ghost That Ate Grandma”.
Why are ranches the only house with their own condiment? I demand bungalow sauce!
Happy birthday to actor Sam Elliot, who turns 80 today, and to his mustache, who turns 79.
My brother said he wants to have eight or nine more kids. I said, “Wow, instead of having nephew, I’ll have neph many!”
He said, “You’re living proof that uncle jokes are even worse than dad jokes.”
Lots of bills lately. I might have to sell a kidney. Haven’t decided whose yet.
Getting depressed while you paddle a tiny boat is called cryaking.
My wife got mad at me because I got fast food without asking her if she wanted anything, so she used her flat iron to turn my curly fries into regular fries.
My mom texted me to say “we called a guy to help us with passions in the basement.”
It took me forever to figure out she meant type “possums.” Thanks for the lovely mental picture, autocorrect.
I’m trying to write.
My wife is pounding with a hammer in the garage.
I’m trying to write.
The dog is barking at the hammer noise.
I’m trying to write.
Kids next door are playing football and screaming “Omaha! Omaha!”, apparently their next big play.
…I’m trying to write.
I’m starting to regret building that time portal. A version of me from a dystopian alternate future keeps coming back to eat my chips. He says the alien government’s killbots won’t let them have snacks, but he always shows up covered in Cheeto dust.
Sorry, when you said you needed someone to listen to your problems, I assumed you meant by eavesdropping on your therapy sessions.