I would think, if you were horny enough, there'd come a time when it was hos before bros.

Somewhere, there's someone who's masturbation ritual ends with them setting up ventriloquist dummies facing the bed. I mean, someone else.

I am faced with a bruising dilemma: pay to fix the dishwasher or continue serving everything in waffle cones.

Women are like pumpkins; you search and search for the perfect one, bring it home, and the next thing you know, you're looking for a knife.

As I die, and my life flashes before my eyes, I want to see who made faces at me when I turned my head. That's all I want to see.

Death's vigilance is eternal, so shall mine be.

Know someone you hate? Give their kid a kazoo!