I Guarantee At Least One Laugh


Scientists tell us to use stairs to live longer. I’ll believe that when I see scientists living inside stairwells – they’ll damn near live forever in that scenario.

For the average Fitbit user: I’m glad you are tracking your alleged health. It’s important. I’m not sure what you are prolonging, though, unless it is a further comparison to unusually tech-savvy ferrets.

The only thing worse than hearing health advice from a doctor is getting it in person from someone who smokes.

The only thing worse than hearing health advice from a doctor is not hearing it because I’m dead.

I think I had a bad reaction to my ‘meds,’ because I could have sworn my math professor told me to do my homework using fractals instead of fractions. My work was all wrong, but it sure is pretty to look at.

I hate it when I’m reading vague warnings on medications. If it says “explosive diarrhea” instead of “projectile explosive diarrhea,” that kind of thing really matters when planning your social calendar.

“Were you born in a barn?” is the wrong thing to ask kids these days. The last time I asked, my nephew shouted back, “I must have been, because there were cows and asses in there.”

If I were a realtor, I would add “beautiful screen doors on all entrances” to all property descriptions just to confuse the snotty clients.

Likewise, if I were a realtor, I would add “Haunted” to every house listing so that once the house was sold, I would have some prank victims lined up.

I have a jar of nickels. I don’t collect them. I keep them for when some cliché-abusing speaker says “If I had a nickel for every…” Perhaps a slingshot is the wrong method of delivery, but you have to stick to what works.

It’s weird that people say “…all you could hear were crickets…” to describe an awkward social silence because if all I can hear are crickets, I’m already pulling my own hair out.

I jumped off the roof of a ten-story building. The roof was on the ground and awaiting a crane to lift it up there – still, though, I did jump off the roof of a ten-story building. Thank you, English language.

Have you seen the rumor about bees learning Morse code? Well, now you have. And it’s all the buzz around here.

Just once, I would like to attend an opera where the actors suddenly start doing improv.

Opera: squealy singing in another language, punctuated by one delicious intermission.

I’m just kidding, I love opera. Like a brother. Cain and Abel, I mean.

Instead of taxing fast food, I think we should instead require each fast food place to have mucus on at least 5 of their top-selling items. I think Arby’s has already jumped the gun on this one.

I got permission to make my own version of “Oil of Olay.” Mine is called “Oil of Olé,” and is made of 75% taco grease. Like with the original, wrinkles will be the least of your worries.

These jokes are sponsored by Hardee’s: where meat lovers gather to share communicable diseases.

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