The universe doesn’t give a rat’s ass about whether I (or even the rat) live or die.
Typically known for his poor foresight, Wendell surprised everyone in the office following the market crash when he revealed to them that not only had he been stockpiling tube socks for years, but that we was willing to share his good fortune with everyone, including Lester, the office nosepicker.
“Sir, the gentlemen have pulled up the wickets and thrown them everywhere, and perhaps even worse, are now refusing to take tea in the rose garden.”
Life is better with The Wind in Your Vagina.
For weeks and weeks Harold toiled, eating Jelly Bellies by the bowlfull, until at last he assembled a a perfect jelly bean reenactment of Henry VIII’s full coronation feast in a single, sugary bite.
You know life’s good when those 4 extra cherries seem like a slap in the face.
i believe i’ve mentioned it before, but in this issue The Word Detective reminds us that “There is, fortunately, now an online database of eggcorns, where you can catch late-breaking discoveries like “cut to the cheese” and “put the cat before the horse”…meeYOW!
“Sir, the gentlemen grow restless.”
Peter used to brag about the time that the giant trapped us under that humongous derby hat of his, telling everyone that it got so hot under there that we thought we were going to sweat to death before the giant had a chance to eat us, but the truth of the matter is, Peter got so scared that he wet his pants, which did actually end up saving us because that giant was so worried that urine had gotten onto the brim of his hat that we had a chance to quickly slip away.
I thought there for a minute that I had it all worked out, but of course that proved to not be true.
Chocolate had replaced tobacco as her substance of choice for changing passive self-reproach into action.
Apparantly, the secret agents who routinely bug my car feel I was too lenient on my kid for failing to tell me about a trip to the principal’s office, because on the dust of my hood this morning was this message: “You shoulda grounded her.”
Doris ~ May 30, 1938 - September 26, 2006
I’ve been straddling this “sell the house” fence for so long now that I barely feel those pickets poking holes in my sanity.
I’ll never visit the Caribbean again, not since that time everyone saw me floating there in those warm waters, mistook me for a manatee, then tried to run me down with their boats.
Percy didn’t want to fight, but it seemed to be the only way he was going to get his hands on Henry’s buffalo wig.
Gross as it was, I really needed to tell someone that I’d somehow managed to sneeze on the back of my own head—the physics of it were just so amazing!
So far, the only difference Larry had noticed between his birthday and any other day was that it was trash day, and the barrel gave off an especially rancid stink as he dragged it toward the curb.