I’m not sure what stage of life I am in but I frequently wake up with a cow-lick or other hair anomaly that typically afflict those consigned to riding the short bus or living in a group home setting. This too I hope shall pass.
Being in charge of managing household duties I’ve decided it is easier to go clothes shopping with my wife to try to prevent delicate care items from coming home than it is to sort laundry into infinite groups of less than three articles each that require unique handling, after donning my reading glasses and searching every seam for that “care and handling” tag spitefully hidden by the sweatshop seamstress. Dry clean only, my ass!
Hey, guys. When you’re getting ready to go someplace nice with your girl or wife and after a brief expressionless stare she asks “are you going to wear that?” DO NOT argue. Just go change. Trust me, that is part of a successful relationship
New rules for visiting family and friends: Bring your own bedding, buss your own tables, and we no longer accept personal checks. Oh, and if the guest room is cluttered with boxes of stuff and unfolded laundry that’s your problem.
Named after a Roman goddess and associated with femininity, why does Venus rhyme with penis?
For Christmas, my wife gave me a stud sensor to help me with handyman activities. The thing is pretty much worthless to me as it goes off whenever I get near it.
(the title of this post is self-referential)
Serial killing is just too much work. Think about it: tracking the targets, hiding the bodies, scrubbing the crime scenes, lying to your family and friends (if you have any) and making small-talk with the convenience-store clerk to avert suspicion all take a great toll on a sensitive psychopath.