Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ))>, Africa, Bus Rides, Chris Martiny, chupacabra, Coffee, Connecticut, Diversity, Elbow, Gary, Hand Banana, Lady Parts, Math, narcolepsy, Pelvis, Scott Tomford, Sharon Clark, Thank You
Me: I hope the only coma I come out of is the one you put me into.
You: Sometimes he thrashed in his sleep. One time his right elbow crushed her pelvis and she fell into a coma after they removed her lady parts.
Thank You Gary!
Me: I hope when we nod in agreement that we don’t bump our heads into each other.
You: They had matching bruises hers was a more deep purple while his was black like an African Shaman. “Dear, I need another ice pack. I hurt.” “I hurt too.”
Miscalculated madness at your local international coffee house!
Me: If you put a ring on my finger, make sure it’s from a hand bell.
You: After riding an escalator to the clouds, we could see everything. Lots of things looked like penises. Five things looked like a vagina. One looked like Chris Martiny.
Starvation is an obstacle anorexics must overcome.
Me: The only thing you need to wed is my appetite.
You: Genocide is only acceptable if you’re bored. Murder is okay if you’re sleepy. Rape is okay if your name is Hand Banana.
Me: The next time you’re in pain, think about being incognito.
We are suspended in gelatin.
Me: There are worse things you could lose than your dignity. Like your eyeball in a cockfight.
You: There are worse things to lose than your virginity. Not much though.
We’ve been here for years.
Me: In the past, some of my times have been spent waiting.
You: Thank you for waiting.
When you think something is nice, the slavery involved usually ruins it for you.
Me: I am waiting for your nails to grow so you can put our house together.
You: I found a home where I thought there’d be lady parts. Is the white man’s burden funding welfare?
Close your legs!
Me: My knees aren’t the only things that have been getting bent lately.
You: Indie Anna Jones is your stage name. I’d like to hear you sing about Jesus while wearing a giant pentagram on your chest.
Me: When cows stop making milk, there’s nothing left in their udders.
You: The elderly are shrunken and wrinkled because toddlers suck out their soul juices at night.
Me: It’s the thought that counts if you’re good at math.
You: I drink your milkshake rape your toilet.
Lip my talking.
Me: If there’s no end and no beginning, there’s only role reversal.
For you and me.
Me: A narcoleptic falling asleep in the shower is the next best thing to a night of heavy drinking.
You: In Connecticut, no one can hear you scream or complain about a lack of diversity.
Me: When I pick you up, it’s hard to drive.
You: Humping a pillow does not feel the same. Also, it makes the case feel less comfy.
Me: The guy next to us has a wad of $100 bills.
You: I am simply a pile of meat wielding a rather large boom box.
Me: It’s more embarrassing to pass gas than it is to pass tests.
You: Is it worse to lave at a funeral or an execution? The answer is it is worse to laugh at a crippled sasquatch.