Writing jokes for others is like having babies for someone else. It's sad. Like the woman who gives up her baby but needs to be close so she secretly becomes the maid in the household.

When I was a kid my parents used to tell me, "Emo, don't go near the cellar door!" One day when they were away, I went up to the cellar door. And I pushed it and walked through and saw strange, wonderful things, things I had never seen before, like... trees. Grass. Flowers. The sun... that was nice... the sun.

My classmates would copulate with anything that moved, but I never saw any reason to limit myself.

My sister just had a baby. We can have company over. She'll be in front of everyone with her um... breast... out feeding it. You know... cereal or whatever.

I go to pick up a girl in a bar. I say will you go home with me? She says I don't know, do you have cable? I say no, but the rope should work just fine.

I've learned that you can't make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope they'll panic and give in.

Sex is logically impossible after marriage. You have to overcome the paradox of Not this again, and Hey, where did you learn that?