Aren’t all hypochondriacs eventually right?
It’s fine if too much coffee is killing me slowly. Just don’t make it painful.
Maybe higher consciousness is a curse.
Ninety percent of my daily conversations result with a giant billboard in my brain flashing, “Who cares?”
Ninety-nine percent of my time on Facebook results with me whispering out loud, “Who cares?”
I hear a lot about death by chocolate, but I think that’s just a way for fat people to make a joke.
My girlfriend has short-term memory gain. She remembers things that never actually happened.
Being in a coma for the last 20 years of your life might be great. I bet you’d have some awesome dreams.
Sometimes I just want to be left alone. Left alone on an island far from civilization. With stockpiles of food, of course. And a good wi-fi signal.
I often pretend the exciting part of my life hasn’t started yet. I wonder how long I can believe that. Once I’m confined to a hospital bed, I think the gig is up.
I secretly suspect that couch pillows carry more germs than public toilets.
People sometimes say, “He died doing what he loved.” But that’s not really true unless he loved dying.
They say idle hands are the devil’s workshop. That doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve always imagined the devil having a much fancier workshop. Also, is the devil small enough to set up shop inside your hand? Does he have a tiny set of tools? What kind of significant manufacturing could possibly occur inside a hand?
It would be really cool if cowboys were still around to save the day, because no one really likes police officers anymore.
Somewhere thousands of light years away, the Heaven’s Gate followers are smiling at us from a shiny spaceship and sipping sweet arsenic (because once you pass through the gate, arsenic becomes a nutrient).
Anyone seriously trying to bribe me should start with a Cracker Barrel gift card.
Do you think nursing homes have cliques? And they all sit together for bingo night? And when one of them wins, they all take selfies together and post it on Facebook?
Sometimes I wash my hands before and after using the restroom. Makes me feel like a surgeon.
You know those stick figure decals people place on the back of their car, representing each member of their family? I think if a child is adopted, that sticker should have an asterisk next to it.
People keep asking, “Can’t we all just get along?” Stop asking. The answer is obviously no.