Topic: family

I can’t understand why my wife doesn’t enjoy my magnificent flatulence. After all, “I” makes the difference between “rectal” and “recital.”

As the years rolled on, those of us at the kids’ table always wondered which of the adults would perish and open up a spot at next year’s Thanksgiving. I was the ONLY one who decided to be proactive about the matter and yet I’m now the black sheep of the family?

My wife fell asleep in my arms last night. She woke up this morning with an impression of the bazooka on her butt.

You know you have been married a while when Date Night involves getting a sitter for the kids so you can shop at Restoration Hardware until it closes.

Puppy playdate? At our place? Great idea! Why, just the other day, I was remarking to the wife that we dont have nearly enough dogs pooping in our backyard.

I am not getting fat. I am simply carb-loading for the “Father of Teens” marathon that will be my life for the next decade or so.

My mother always told me there would be days like this. I found it very annoying, because she never gave us a “spoiler warning” before telling us stuff like that. Sometimes it’s nice to be surprised.

When I’m at Wal-Mart and see all those products that are allegedly made by children, I get depressed. My kids can’t even make their own beds.

My wife says I’m unsophisticated and uncultured, so to prove her wrong, guess where I’m taking her? Hint: It starts with “B” and rhymes with “wallet.”