I thought I was raptured up into the air today; turns out, it was just my gas oven exploding.

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.

I'm a great lover, I'll bet.

I wanted to get from 4th street to 8th... Then I remembered Einstein postulating that parallel lines eventually meet. They're dredging my car from Lake Michigan as we speak.

You should get married. When I was younger, I was into the fame and fortune, and now I realize that a loving wife and happy children - that's life's greatest consolation prize.

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.

Even the worst comic is at least somewhat entertaining, if only in a pathological way, for five minutes.