We all know at least one guy that rubs his hands together and says “alright, moment of truth” before trying new food.

If I was the mayor of NYC, toilet seat cover dispensers would be put in every single subway cart.

Picture this: an ad campaign promoting vaginal intercourse with the slogan “I can’t believe it’s not butt sex!”

“A watched pot never boils” … said the chef

“A watched pot never grows”’… said the weed farmer.

“A watched pot” … proudly announced the man with a lisp while doing dishes

Google’s search engine is, dare I say, nowhere near optimized. One easy place to start: when searching “Bob Ross’s Happy Accident”, the first result should obviously be Steve Ross.

If we all ate more shit during quarantine, we’d be at turd immunity by now.

“Admitting you have a problem is the first step.” No, it isn’t! Becoming an alcoholic is.

Your glass of water is room temp? Save money on ice cubes. Chew mint gum instead.

I’m a simple midwestern man. To me, Hawaiian shirts are just Pacific flannels. And dress shirts, well, they're just business flannels.

The morgue? *scoffs* I think you mean the necrophiliac whorehouse.

Generous horndogs? *scoffs* I think you mean philanthropic philanderers.

A ghost buying bullets? *scoffs* I think you mean an apparition’s munitions acquisition.

Normalize houses having master bathrooms with His and Her Urinals! (And living rooms with stacked couches, bunkbed-style.)

Irony /ˈīrənē/ (noun) — a dyslexic man named Sal getting ALS

It’s always “nice tits” and “great rack” but never “your Double Bubbles are poppin!”

The “is a hot dog a sandwich?” discussion is totally stale at this point. I propose we shift the national debate to “is folded pizza technically a grilled cheese?”