It used be called “talking to yourself” but the new term for it is “podcasting”.
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To get rid of house guests I just move them from room to room closing doors until they’re on the porch and I’m behind the locked door.
*Writes a song for you*
*Sings it under your bedroom window*
*You call the cops*
*Your husband falls in love with me*
Marriage is probably the least romantic thing you can do with another person.
Anyway, congrats on your engagement!
I’m one of those lucky people that can eat whatever they want and not put on any clothes.
I FREAKING SWEAR!! IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONE MORE TIME WHAT AN EASY-GOING, PATIENT, AND CHILL PERSON I AM, I’M GONNA LOSE IT!!!!
we could create a chicken alfredo coffee flavor we have the technology
Red light : Stop
Yellow light : Proceed w/ caution
Green light : Wait till everyone hates you then go
Doing stand up comedy feels like I’m doing a book report on a book I didn’t read.
Damn girl, are you an octagon?
Cause there’s like 8 different sides to you.
A buddy asked me what it was like to cook with toddlers so I dumped out a bag of flour, threw a half-dozen eggs on the floor and then we went out to eat.
Terrible things can happen if you go camping. For starters, you could want to go camping again.
No you can’t throw a ham at the rotor blade so it slices the ham up, that’s literally the first thing we taught you in helicopter school
Thanks for the reply to my tweet from 2013, champ. I’ll be sure to take your advice.
Shazam but for whether someone is mad at you
The Never Ending Story should’ve been a movie about a phone call from my Mother
Mob Boss: Did you check the money for marks?
Me: Why would I, we’ve never had a president named Mark
Mob Boss: …
Me: *getting nervous* H-have we?
Cop: Tell me your alibi for last night, or you’re going to prison
Me (watched Fight Club with Voldemort): oh no
Good luck sending me mixed signals. Most the time I can’t even understand the direct ones.
Sometimes I wonder if the ghost in my house thinks he’s being haunted by some angry, naked, drunk guy.
When I was just little boy I asked my mother, what will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? And here’s what she said to me…
Maybe there is a secret third thing
Mom 1: My son’s gonna be a pro baseball player
Mom 2: Mines gonna be a doctor
Me: My son shows strong signs of being able to escape prison
[quietly opens a beer]
Funeral Director: seriously?!
Me: oh sorry [reaches into cooler and hands him one]
*interrupts your heartfelt story*
Oh NOW I hear your New York accent!! Say “dying wish” again!Ok now say “coffee”!
Imagine being a licensed therapist scrolling Twitter just basking in the never ending job security
[being eaten alive by cannibals]
cannibal: is he… joining in?
EARTH: Goodnight Moon
MOON: Goodnight Earth
EARTH: Come closer and give me a kiss
MOON: Okay
{millions perish in massive tidal wave}
The irony of my developing severely crippling stomach cramps minutes after reading a cheesy old love story isn’t lost on me.
*faints*
*air horn sound*
*second air horn sound*
Me: “This isn’t deodorant.”
Me, “I need to get in shape.”
Hubs, “What flavor? Chocolate or Vanilla?”
Me, “Shape, not Shake.”
Hubs, “So….”
Me, “Chocolate.”
murderer: *stabbing me*
me: 🙂
murderer: doesn’t it hurt?
me: i’m used to it i have a cat :’)