Everyone talks about selling excess solar to the electric company to pay for their solar panels, but nobody talks about selling excess flatulence to the gas company to pay for their Brussels Sprouts.
Her (seductively): Anything special you want tonight for your birthday?
Me: You know what I like in bed, baby.
Her: *leaves the ceiling fan on*
If you’ve been waiting me to drop a lent tweet, I tried coming up with one and gave up.
“Don’t eat the baby” is practical advice on Fat Tuesday and every day.
Thanks to everyone who said nothing while I walked around with my zipper down all morning.
Billion Dollar Idea:
Add glitter to air bags to lighten the mood after accidents.
I’m not saying I drank a lot over the holidays, but my liver just went to an AA meeting without me.
I wonder if those folks that wrote “Never change!” in my yearbook regret their choice of words.
You can’t buy gifts from a sex offender registry. I know this now.