When I die, please don’t do an autopsy. Whatever happened is fine.
Of course this is the year I bring my famous Romaine pie to my in-laws.
“Something in the way she moos / attracts me like no udder lover”
My stomach just made the sound of a 68-year-old Long Island woman seeing her granddaughter for the first time.
Next time you’re on an elevator with a stranger say, “If the doors open and it’s all zombies, let’s team up.”
“Wanna pop a xanax in the Civic and kayak with mom and dad at noon?” “Can’t. Scared.” “Of the water?” “No. Palindromes.”
Just picked up an unknown call with a “Hello?” An old woman said “Joan?” So, I can cross “mistaken for a Joan” off the bucket list.
I have no beef with vegetarians.
How do male civil unions not end with the phrase “I dude”?
“All black people are Aiwa, and all jews are Technics.” “Those are just stereo types.”