SON: *first word* momma.
MOM: DID YOU HEAR THAT?
ME: *distracted by the faint song of an ice cream truck*
He never comes down our street.
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When attempting to make a good first impression imagine how important good grammar is. Wrong. Importanter.
Without telling me where you live tell me your social security number and mother’s maiden name.
Me: Sometimes I don’t get Jo’s tweets.
Marta: Maybe you’re not high enough?
Me: * climbs tree
Day one without power. Already considering which neighbor would taste best.
“I’m sorry”:
0:00🔘━━━━━━━0:06
↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺
volume: ▁ 5%“…but”:
0:00🔘━━━━━━━━70:28:54
↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺
volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%
I should run for public office just to see the scandalous dirt they dig up on me. I would really like to piece together my twenties.
On all dating sites, my profile name is Chupacabra, and my profile picture is a Chupacabra, which surprisingly does not deter men at all.
Every hotel is like: “Yes we’ll have tiny bars of soap and bottles of shampoo waiting for you but TOOTHPASTE IS WHERE WE DRAW THE LINE!!!”
ME: *doing crossword* What’s another word for upside-down?
WIFE: Inverted?
ME: No, in English Sharon.
Dad Hack: get your teen’s attention instantly by pre-heating the oven.
How did we decide to go with cockpit?
[first date]
HER: i’m super close to my dad
ME: *trying to impress* you’re grounded
*sets up tent*
*unrolls sleeping bag*
*tosses down like fourteen decorative pillows*Waitress: Umm…
Me: I’ll have the endless chips and salsa.
Waitress: But you can’t–
Me: –I LIVE HERE NOW
Waiter: would you like a lobster bib
Me: [imagining how tiny and cute that would be] obviously
Boss: “you’re fired”
Me: “I guess we’re just gonna have to agree to disagree”
*Checks typos in the mail before sending*
*Checks again, to be sure*
*Clicks on Send*
*Goes to sent mails*
There’s a typo in the Subject
me: are there really aliens at area 51
pentagon official: that’s confidential
me: then how’d i hear about it
Oh, please don’t pay attention on that voodoo doll you’re going to find outside your door!
That was by mistake
A spider ran across my foot and now I have to explain why a woman was screaming in a men’s Target bathroom.
Life goals:
Age 6: Be a pirate
10: Kiss more girls
16: Be 18
21: Be rich by 30
22 – 32: *File corrupted*
33: Improve on napping
Yes liquor store clerk, I do need help. But I decided to come here instead.
Running with my dog, holding his poop in a small, lavender scented, biodegradable bag like the top-of-the-food-chain creature that I am.
listening to jazz: do any of them know what the other ones are playing
Me: while you’re up there let’s do a Spider-Man kiss
My dental hygienist: still no
Me: You sprained your ankle, let’s bandage it up and ice it.
Husband:
*3 hours, one x-ray and $156 later*
Doctor: You sprained your ankle, let’s bandage it up and ice it.
Kids, if you want to succeed in journalism the way to do it is to suck at your job in a way that’s useful to rich people
honey, i think the milk’s gone bad
“i only bought it yesterday”
yeah well, look at this..
*milk is running a meth lab in the fridge*
What’s the best way to remove a grass stain?
Alcohol?
I don’t see how getting drunk will help, but whatever.
You can just say something like “a group of chipmunks is called a cheek.” No one fact-checks that shit anymore
Don’t perform CPR because you never know when a giant alien spider is dressed in a human suit.