Every year on my birthday I get a small dash on my inner thigh where my balls currently hang. You can't tell me that's not going to be a beautiful work of art when it's finished. My grandkids are playing with my balls, they can't figure it out. They're like, 'What are these things?' I'm like, 'It's your future, read the chart.' They don't stop growing; they're like earlobes. That joke was inspired by a door that wasn't locked when I was 11.

If I offend anybody tonight, I apologize. That's not my intention. I'm not going to guess what your personal line of decency is; I cross my own from time to time - it's how I know I still have one.

Every year on my birthday I get a small dash on my inner thigh where my balls currently hang. You can't tell me that's not going to be a beautiful work of art when it's finished. My grandkids are playing with my balls, they can't figure it out. They're like, 'What are these things?' I'm like, 'It's your future, read the chart.' They don't stop growing; they're like earlobes. That joke was inspired by a door that wasn't locked when I was 11.

There's only two types of men left in this world. Lumberjacks and Liam Nesson.

If you like soccer, then welcome to America. See, our country already has entertainment so watching people chase a ball for four hours to end 0 - 0 is not enjoyable - unless, of course, the bleachers collapse and half of Europe dies.

How come New York gets all the cool plane crashes?

I fell asleep watching the country music channel and woke up racist.