I don’t need a steak knife to cut my meat. That’s why karate chops were created. I’m like a butter knife, only slightly less deadly. But I’m great with bagels—and disobedient old people.

When I see a cop’s lights behind me at two in the morning, and I have my disco ball dangling from my rearview mirror, it’s like, Hey, a party! Especially if I’ve been drinking.

The other day I went to the Huddle House. I wasn’t hungry, I just wanted to call some plays.

Here, why don’t I carry that for you?” I was in stupid love.

Who would you rather make love to—me, or the dead carcass of a deer? Don’t deliver a hasty answer. Think it over.

I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that your house hasn’t burned down, you don’t have cancer, and your daughter hasn’t been raped or murdered. The bad news is...

A window—it’s more entertaining than TV. Just ask a cat looking out, or a man looking in on a life he desires.

He doesn’t have sex with sheep—he sleeps with scapegoats. He is my father, and I haven’t seen him since before I was born.

I’m twice as old as she is tall. She’s half my age in height. We have a David and Goliath kind of love.

The closer I get, the faster I have to go. Otherwise, I might be late to the very place where I’m not even expected. Adding to my tardiness is the fact that I don’t even...

Many people wonder, is my love a llama—or an alpaca? The answer, is yes.

My love is like the shape your mouth makes while you whistle. Would you mind if I accompanied you on my harmonica?

Some people believe that people are essentially evil. Others believe people are essentially good. I believe they are somewhere in the middle, like Denver.

I have a phobia of balloons—and other sharp objects. I also have a fear of too much love—giving, not getting.

I went to a potluck. I brought my own pot—and luck. The pot was empty, just like my promise to bring food the next time.

A light on my car’s dashboard came on, and instead of fixing the problem, I waited for the bulb to burn out. Crisis solved.

I had tons of fun, minus 3,999 pounds.

A brick is a lot like love. I mean, I’m sure it is. It simply must be. However, I can’t think of how at the moment, but that’s natural, because I’m not Cupid. OK, here’s...

You don’t say.

Question for your life: If you could change War’s name, do you think you’d change its nature?

A brick could be used as a stamp on a letter, to increase the weight and boost the cost and profitability of the postal service. It would be government efficiency at its finest.

Sometimes life is sad. You can cry in your booze, if you want. I think that’s called a Whiskey Sour.

I once watched several criminals engage in an organized argument, while an audience of supporters cheered them on, but I was so disgusted that I had to turn off the political debate.

Nothing, Everything, Anything, Something: If you have nothing, then you have everything, because you have the freedom to do anything, without the fear of losing something.

I hid my feelings for her for years, and I thought all was well until my neighbor went digging in her garden and found them buried in the ground. I’m so embarrassed I could just...

There’s a relentless wave of WTF coming out of Washington DC.

The truth is I did try to stab him. I tried to stab him with a butter knife. Why? Because it seemed deadlier than trying to stab him with a melting stick of butter.

Jacksonville is home to the most romantic man in the known universe. And it will be for some time, until I either move away, or my clone arrives to challenge me for my title.

Handcuffs barely wrap around the girth of my penis. I should run for Congress.

In a battle of believability, the winner is the one with the best body language, not the clearest logic.

I’ve got better things to think about than thoughtlessness.

Do you ever wonder if you’re the antichrist? I do. Not for myself of course, but I think you’re the devil.

There’s truth in what you say, even though it’s all lies.

A brick could be used to help you become the next Great American Novelist. Hopefully after you use it to crack your own skull, and not too long after your death, the public will realize...

Mr. Shit gives politicians a good name. It’s the rest of the politicians who give Mr. Shit a bad name.

Reading a book is like having the ability to dip a straw into the author’s soul and sip and slurp without lowering the water table of wisdom.

A brick could be used to stop people from reading my book. Just place the brick on the book’s cover, to discourage people from opening it up.

I wish somebody would combine tasers and dildos, and test the devices out on all the politicians in Washington DC. Well, all the politicians except Barney Frank, who’d actually derive pleasure from the experiment.

At first, the drudgery of mastering your craft is a prison—boring, slow, and with an awareness of how much time you’ll have to put in. But somewhere along your prison sentence, you come to see...

If I had no clothes it’d be winter. If I were naked, it’d be the truth and we could lie together.

swimod.” Afterwards I felt like I was drowning in foolishness.

I want to keep politics out of my breakfast. Politics isn’t something I want in my eggs, no matter how scrambled I like them.

A nugget of wisdom is more valuable than a nugget of gold—and considerably harder to pan out of a river. I’ll be 33 in March, and all I’ve found so far is fool’s gold. Still,...

Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. You can’t fool an old sheep like me. To prove it, I’ll tell you that I’ve been continuously voting for the same person for president for...

To find my mistakes, you’re going to need a shovel—and a missing person’s list.

There aren’t two political parties in this country, it’s all just one big party—and the citizens aren’t invited.

Alone is just another word for love.

Nobody is either honest or dishonest. Life is a gradient, and a saint might be an 8.7, and a dirtbag politician might be a 1.2. Interestingly, piss and shit are numerically represented by 1 and...

I was part of a focus group once, but to be honest, I couldn’t concentrate.

My life story is 75% true. But which quarter is a lie? Better check my pants pockets—the one the politician’s wearing.