Two of my fingers had to be amputated after the fact, but I carried all these groceries into the house in one fucking trip.
I keep a spatula next to the front door so I can fake like I’m cooking something in case a talkative neighbor shows up. You’re welcome.
Twitter: where we’re all one DM away from wrecking our lives.
“You know what would really pull this room together? Taking all the cushions off the couches to make a tower on the floor” – kid decorators.
When I played Truth or Dare as a kid, it was dare that scared me. These days, it’s truth.
You think you’re so cool with your sleeve tattoos and your awesome jeans and your sunglasses and . . . and . . . God damn you’re cool!
Mother-in-law: “so how do I friend you or whatever on Twitter?”
Me: “what the fuck is Twitter?”
I don’t *want* to act like a stereotypical gay hair dresser. It’s just that my 5 year-old won’t let me brush her hair if I don’t.
“I don’t need you to validate me” – me, needing you to validate me but realizing that you’re probably not going to.
I just brewed a pot of jasmine tea in case any of you ladies are wearing a strap-on.
My wife is planning a family Disney cruise for next spring break. Based on the price, I can only assume it’s all cocaine included.
The iPad and cloud computing are nice, but I really thought that by now we’d have the technology to build Voltron, Defender of the Universe.
I am rarely more disoriented than when my kids, who have lived with me their entire lives, tell me how things are done where they’re from.
Hey dudes who wear expensive watches – you know your phone tells you the time, right?
Started to say “I don’t make the rules” to my kids, then realized I do. So now the rules are more pancakes for them & mom can’t wear pants.
Here’s what I want: take a cup of black coffee, drop a shot of espresso into it, then have that hot chic over there spit in it . . . Perfect.
“Fifth grade play” and “cast party” – two phrases that should never be used in the same sentence.
“Sorry hot chicks at this bar, I’m busy having a text fight with my wife” – nobody ever.
I’d like Old Me who enjoyed Bob Seger and Phil Collins to apologize to Now Me.
We see you, dudes who keep their sunglasses on the back of their necks. We see you.