*Takes leash off feral dad*
Me: Go on, boy. Get outta here.
*Feral dad barbecues on my new shoes*
BAD DAD! BAD!
[Half of my body is already in the anaconda]
“Is this a date? This feels like a date.”
EMT: [opens my shirt revealing bread covering my nipples] You faked cardiac arrest for this?
Me: Just say clear and make my grilled cheese.
Kill someone with an icecream cone and eat it afterward. They can’t convict with no murder weapon. It’s the perfect crime. Plus, ice cream.
Her: So what do you do?
Him: I’m a pickup artist.
Her: Pig! [leaves]
Him: *sighs* [puts away prints of exquisitely painted Ford F-150s]