Something’s wrong with this artificial gravity. The package is leaking and it smells like wet dog.
Animal husbandry is the future of this great land. A donkey in every shed. A marmot in every cupboard. A leech on every forehead. Leave harlotry and haberdashery to the lesser nations. Animal husbandry is the way forward. And barber colleges.
I’m getting really good at laser surgery. Up to performing twelve and a half laser surgeries a day. Learned it on the Inter-web. Best three hours I ever spent on a computer.
The key to success is using lots of local anesthesia. If you are going to remove a wart from someone’s ear, I would douse the whole head in the stuff like shampoo, to play it safe.
That crazy drunk woman there! The one dancing with the lit cigarette in her hand! Stay away from her before she burns a hole in your shirtsleeve. Yes! That crazy fool woman there!
I was promised night vision goggles if I voted in the last election. That didn’t happen. Politicians’ mouths are always running, like a toilet where you have to jiggle the handle to get it to stop. I don’t want to jiggle any politician’s handle—even if they promised me a hundred pairs of night vision goggles.
Again, gentlemen, let me state, in the most animated language imaginable, that a piece of bread browned on one side does not, by Star Federation Standards, rise to the definition of toast. Stunned bread it may be. Edible? Surely. But toast it is not. If we can agree on nothing else, let us agree this act of partial carbonization is illogical, irredeemable, and to be frowned upon in zero gravity eating situations. Let us file it away with damp toilet paper and lukewarm coffee.
Now, on to waffles…
I want to go on TV and git put in dat Plexiglass box wid all da money stuck inside it, where what you can grab in forty-seconds you can keep. I don’t know what it’s called. “Da Grabber Box Show…” “Da Stuck Money Show…”
I need ta git me on dat show coz I got a surgery I’ve been puttin’ off fur awhile. Need ta grab some money to pay fur da operation.
I call it, “Two Polar Bears in a Snowstorm,” and every picture tells a story:
There is no trust between these two polar bears. You can especially see it in the left bear’s eyes. She’s wondering how long her relationship with this clown will last in such a treacherous climate. They brought two fish back from the ice hole, but this guy is now saying he didn’t catch a fish—and he wants half of hers!
My painting perfectly captures that universal moment of doubt that occurs in too many relationships in this modern age. The fierce, relentless snow, of course, underscores the female bear’s dilemma with this bozo.
I am Superman. I don’t get ear infections. You obviously have too much time on your hands, kid, if you have time to stand around and make up filthy lies about Superman having an ear infection. Why aren’t you working at a match factory somewhere? Or picking up trash along a busy interstate? How do you feel about being low-orbiting space debris as a career choice?
I’m a former child star, and I’m pretty messed up, as you can imagine. I’ve blown all my money. Snorted half of it up my nose and spent the rest on getting blood transfusions from hookers. Don’t know how that started—or how I started putting scalding hot marbles under my eyelids. I’m legally blind now. My first three wives were killed in trailer fires. A fourth one was killed driving her car into a trailer.
My advice to former child stars: keep a smoke alarm in your trailer. Preferably one with batteries.
The North Koreans pulled out my toenails in the war. Pulled out each and everyone of them with a pair of pliers! But I got them all back, by God! And I carry them around to this day to remind you smart aleck kids how spoilt rotten you are! I lost my toenails in the war so you could be spoilt rotten good-for-nothings!