I’m not morbid anymore. Just obese. Soon I’ll be just fat. And then someday, God willing, I’ll be out of shape. Oh, to be out of shape! What a dream…
Super gay gossip-tainment guys are always saying how hot Nicole Kidman is. That’s kinda like a vegetarian telling you where to get a good steak, isn’t it?
“I’ve been around for you- been up and down for you,
But I just can’t get any relief
I’ve swallowed my pride for you- lived and lied for you,
But you still make me feel like a thief.”
-William Shakespeare (or maybe REO Speedwagon- I can’t remember which)
Everyone looks so damn good in their facebook pictures, then you see them in person and you are disappointed. That’s why I pick the worst photo I can find for my profile, then people are pleasantly surprised when they meet me.
Never trust a skinny cook or a fat junkie.
Figure skating is gayer than Clay Aiken having sex with RuPaul while watching the Village people play badminton on Liberace’s piano with Elton John playing it. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Rooting for the Vikings is a lot like watching
Anyone who says that Crispy Crème doughnuts are “better than sex” are clearly not fucking the right people.
Never stop believing that the inevitable doesn’t have to become reality.
I always hear guys bragging about their six-pack abs. Hell, I’ve got a whole keg, and it’s always ladies night at Club Ernest!
If you ever need to induce vomiting, just watch a few minutes of Millionaire Matchmaker. It is the most shallow, phony, pathetic, disgusting, hypocritical, materialistic, annoying, horrible plastic surgery mistake filled train wreck of a TV show that you will ever see. And I should know. I’ve seen every episode.
Hearing somebody else talk about a dream they had is like listening to them talk about masturbating. I’m sure it was vivid and exciting for them, but I really don’t want to hear about it.
Anything that is “not half bad” is half not good.