We’re watching a true crime show here about women who kill their husbands and my wife is taking notes. Omg I think she wants to be a detective, you guys.
By age 30 you should have a raccoon butler, a pet penguin called Terry, a 10 year old bully and a pair of Hulk hands used exclusively for speed dating.
WIFE: You’re very quiet. What are you thinking?
ME: Did Smurfette call them her bluebs?
WIFE: Sometimes it’s ok to say ‘nothing’.
[Youth Pastor voice] You know who else got a surprise visit from the authorities?
“How’s your core?” bro I’m not an apple.
[overhears two people taking about how difficult it is to get into Harvard] *whispers to self* Hardvard
ME: So what do you do?
DATE: I’m a chef in the army.
ME: Aah, so you’re in the mealitary.
HER: *already in an Uber
[demonstrating my new invention, The Crocbrella] I did not think this through.
I only like to read about non violent historical events. I’m a pastifist.
The most inquisitive of all the dinosaurs was the philosoraptor.
Why did they call it a parish and not a priestcinct?
Bringing back the word zoinks but only for when someone shows me their baby.
To the person who wrote ‘Most likely to be attacked by a seagull’ in my high school yearbook…well played Sir, your prophecy was fulfilled today.
Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush plays as the camera pans to me chasing an ice cream truck in my flip flops.
Haven’t heard much from the flat earthers recently. Maybe their membership has plateaued.