Tone: witty

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine, orders a drink, punches a waitress, flashes the room *and* delivers a baby. And guess whose camera-phone battery died!

I don’t care what the judge said, taking that hooker off the streets and into my hotel room for an hour is community service in my book!

I wouldn’t mind being the last person on earth. At least I could get that “sock puppet on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower” fantasy out of my head once and for all.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t realize there was a difference between “exhibitors” and “exhibitionists,” but I sure made a boatload of money at the flea market.

I have a friend who’s into meth, but I’m still going to invite him to my Christmas party. Not only do I want to reach out to him, but I also feel like he’ll be easy to beat if we play Jenga.

I don’t think it would be that great to be a snowman, staring out at a world blanketed in snow. It must be like you standing in your front yard, seeing your own neighborhood covered in six inches of freshly fallen human viscera.

I felt cranky this morning because I woke up on the wrong side of the driveway again.

I wouldn’t take a million dollars from Ed McMahon if he showed up on my doorstep. My standards may be low, but I draw the line at accepting money from corpses.