There’s really no excuse for taking a poorly lit photo of a fire breather.

I still get toys for Christmas. The real challenge now is when the elderly relatives ask what you got for Christmas and you can’t think of a nicer word for “butt plug.”

I’d be a lot jollier this Christmas if the people on the subway knew how to board an escalator with their bags without hitting me in the crotch with them.

I went to an Indian Casino in Arkansas. Apparently the tribe isn’t doing very well. The concert that weekend was a guy who had seen Aaron Neville at a better Indian casino.

I went to a wet t-shirt contest. I bet it would be a lot more fun if they could have got girls to wear them. Now that I think of it that place was probably just a laundromat.

Why do angry mobs have that much tar and feathers on hand anyway?

They have a law here that says you can’t buy alcohol on Sundays, but you can buy gasoline which is much worse for you if you drink it. Where’s the sense in that?

On the train the other day I overheard two teenagers saying Facebook had been ruined by the presence of all the “old people” who are keeping in touch with other old people, and they looked over at me. I said, “You’re 12. How many people could you have possibly lost track of already?”