I had some eyeglasses. I was walking down the street when suddenly the prescription ran out.

When I was in school the teachers told me practice makes perfect; then they told me nobody’s perfect so I stopped practicing.

I couldn't find the remote control to the remote control.

In school, every period ends with a bell. Every sentence ends with a period. Every crime ends with a sentence.

I forgot and left the lighthouse on all night. Next day the sun wouldn't rise.

I liked school, but I used to dread those moments when the teacher would call me up to give an oral report. I forced myself to deal with it and not dwell on the class in front of me - to keep a straight face, give the report and concentrate on getting it right. That's normally how I perform. That's how I am.

I don't go off and sit down and try to write material, because then it's contrived and forced. I just live my life, and I see things in a word or a situation or a concept, and it will create a joke for me.