My sister is also retarded. Across the board. She's a one hundred per cent, honest to goodness, born that way retard. I learned a long time ago that if you're going to tell a story about your retarded sister, you need to mention she's retarded right off the bat or inevitably, at the end of the story, someone will say, What... is she, retarded? And then you have to go, Uh... yeah, she is. Followed by a lengthy, awkward silence.

If you enjoy shaming people, I suggest dentistry as a profession.

I don't think cops should wear mirrored sunglasses; the whole time the guy was chewing me out, all I could think was I should cut my bangs.

I think it's creepy if a guy says, I would never hit a girl. Cause that should go without saying. That's like if you ever heard a guy go, I would never crap in a hot tub.

My sister might be dumb, but that doesn't make her all that different from the rest of us. She's just like any other American. Except she's Canadian. And retarded.

Well I grew up in Canada in a really small town. We didn't have running water for a long time and we didn't have TV. Then when we did get TV we only had one channel.

When you're pregnant, people feel like they can come up and give you unsolicited advice. When I was nine months pregnant, this one woman came up and she said, I have one word for you: epidural. And I was like, Oh my God, thanks. But we already picked a name.