When You Piss Upon a Car

Life is beautiful–just not my life.

Peter, John, and James dragged Jesus through the sand and laid him out in the afternoon sun until his skin was a nice, shiny grey.

When I woke up this morning I thought, “Tomorrow is another day.”

All I want for Christmas is the death of Santa Claus.

I won a new car on a game show and drove it straight to a TV commercial for an oil company.

I’d like to see a cockfight between Colonel Sanders and Frank Purdue.

“If you want to make an omelette, you’ve got to break some legs.”  Frank Sinatra

My ashtray is your ashtray–or vice versa.

Looking at musty old high school yearbook photos makes me sneeze, bringing back memories of adolescent hay fever.

If Beethoven were alive today and heard K-pop, he’d kill himself.

How many roads must a man walk down before he gets hit by a car?

She was one in a million girls just like her.

I can play a few songs on the guitar by ear but I can’t take the bleeding.

Why isn’t “Holy Matrimony” employed as a curse?

People who talk loudly to their kids in childlike voices on city buses should be forced to sit on the roof until they quiet down.

Have you ever noticed how when Bob Dylan says the name “Mary” in the song Just Like a Woman he sounds like Jerry Lewis?

Anyone who spits on the sidewalk should have to kneel down and lick up their own puddle of spittle.  That’ll teach ’em!

Did you know that Hitler used to practice his speeches before a mirror?  He cut himself shaving a lot–on purpose.

I had a dream in which Cary Grant played Rick Blaine in Casablanca (a role made famous by Humphrey Bogart).  The plot diverged from the original version, however, as he dumped Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) in order to drop acid and follow the Grateful Dead around on a silver pony.

The next James Bond film will take place in the Alps; it’s called License to Yodel. 

A bird sped towards my living room window and paused to flick a morsel of worm off the side of his beak before flying away.

My fellow commuters on the subway keep stepping on my toes.  Serves me right for wearing clown shoes.

Dr. Cupid performed open-heart surgery on the patient, apologized for botching the operation, and said, “Right, who’s next?”

Frankenstein’s monster got a job waiting tables at a family restaurant but the manager had to fire him for imposing himself on too many customers out of loneliness and a desperate search for meaning.

My baby loves to be spoon-fed apple sauce, mashed banana chunks, and strained peas.  She’s the only woman for me.

When you hear a knock on the door, don’t hesitate.  Shout out loud and clear:  “OCCUPIED!”

 

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