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My Babe Ruth moment happened when I pointed across the street to my psychiatrist's office right before eating a KFC family pack alone.
Waldo owns the market for children's books about avoiding child support payments.
Don't believe anyone who says they've hit rock bottom unless they've bought underwear at Salvation Army.
Hiding aces up my sleeve, while I played solitaire, set an early precedent on how I'd live my life.
Forrest Gump had to be the inspiration for Twitter: a lonely retard whose running from reality amassed followers despite his lousy hygiene.
Does Haley Joel Osment ignore M. Night Shyamalan's calls, or the other way around?
Birth of a nihilist: 1. Wow, this totally sums me up. 2. *Retweet* 3. "Tweet does not exist."
The aftermath of Bono's elective surgery to have his sunglasses removed for the first time is triumphantly recounted in "Beautiful Day."
I hope nobody realizes that the gold pendant around my neck is a knockoff. (it's a goldfish)
My Field of Dreams moment happened when I ate too many shrooms, dug up my dad's remains and was told that I still throw like a bitch.
A pedophile's parents should also be held legally responsible for not alerting the authorities that their child was born with a mustache.
When I looked up 'pathetic' in the dictionary there was no picture. Only text. I lost my neighbor's Wi-Fi signal.
On this day in 2005: YouTube was created and unknowingly gave both white supremacists and closet zoophiles their largest forum to date.
Whoever declared hunting humans as the most dangerous game had clearly never played spin the bottle at Jake Busey's house.
This bitch of an adoption counsellor won't consider my Tamagotchi as a reference.
Asking your girlfriend if she wants you to go "dumpster diving" is the worst way to offer cunnilingus.
Wish I would've factored in my bedwetting before signing the lease to this igloo.
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It speaks, and yet says nothing.
