I have trouble getting worked up about women who lay eggs.
“Bring me the hammer. And I’m going to take out my hearing aids and put them right here on this table.”
How much you want to bet, the day after he complains about it, she makes him a butter and peanut jelly sandwich?
I’ve got a cartoon I did years ago that shows two cavemen. One is holding a fried KFC type drumstick and looking at it suspiciously while a bunch of chickens are pecking the ground around his feet. The other caveman is standing with his hands on his hips, saying “Don’t look at me like that; all I asked was what does it taste like?”
Not to me. I’ve known all along I come from the same ethnic gene pool as Andy Rooney, so I’ve been expecting them.
You mean Crossington delling the Wash-n-wear?
What’s the Italian word for “Hardw”?
They should have named something milder for Rose and called the spicy one “The Vicky”.
No such thing as bad hair; only hair that has a different idea than you do about how to greet the world.