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Sometimes I like to hysterically tell mall security that my infant son has gone missing just so I can show people baby pictures of myself.
Waking up to find the cat standing on your chest with his anus in your face doesn't count as a 69 but I still had a cigarette.
Feeling down over being unfollowed by a serial retweeter is like feeling angry that an armless person doesn't entertain your high fives.
Of course Barry White sang to himself every now and then while he was masturbating, don't be ridiculous.
I wish I knew martial arts, scaring off a group of muggers by rapidly opening and closing my umbrella while making roaring sounds is tiring.
I don't claim to be knowledgable but I'm sure that the person who has the most potent hatred for the word "guesstimate" is Sherlock Holmes.
Being indoors is like, the best umbrella ever.
The awkwardness caused by a misplaced apostrophe sure lingers on for a while when you tell your best friend you had Papa's John for dinner.
Of course there's no cutoff age for holding your mom's hand when crossing the road, don't be ridiculous.
I never wish anyone ill a speedy recovery because frankly, saying anything of that sort is just condescending to their immunization system.
It's been 16 years yet I still can't find the right words to express the nature of the beast within which the Mortal Kombat song awakens.
Entering the 6-digit security code to unlock the office door is as close as I'll come to living out a fantasy of international espionage.
Throwing your hands up at a rave is just practice for when you meet the police later.
I keep my tweets long because I'm loquacious on the net and also to make sure motherfuckers use the RT button if they need to share my shit.
Overheard in the office."But I don't sleep with uncircumcised guys." Honey, the starving shouldn't turn down saltine crackers. Get a clue.
If I were religious, I'd say that all my tweets were written by God and that I'm merely his instrument. Yet my vanity negates such nonsense.
"Here comes the fart machine with terrible posture" - Chair thoughts.
Sometimes I reach into my pocket and in a moment of indecision, I forget whether I wanted to retrieve some change or relieve a nutsack itch.
My mother always taught me not to stare but damn it when pigeons walk up to me, give me bad looks, nod and jeer, then I gotta throwdown.
Someone stole my collection of cigarette butts. I saved them for a collage on the dangers of smoking. This is why I don't have nice things.