In a world of war, pain and suffering, all I want for Christmas is an underwater watch and a silver clutch rod for my dirt bike.

Love is like pancreatitis; it starts off slow, then builds in intensity until you become consumed and develop violent cramps.

Unshaven dudes in hoodies and ski caps look so hip and cool, until they too close to a grocery cart full of dented cans.

That which does not kill you usually circles around and tries again.

Chocolate covered peanuts, chocolate covered raisins, chocolate covered pretzels... Chocolate. So afraid to be alone.

Very few positive experiences begin with being told to count back slowly from ten.

Where is the good will in the thought, I was going to throw this in the garbage, do you want to wear it?