There really should be a television show called The Walking Dude, about Atlanta being terrorized by Jeff Bridges in a bathrobe.
Can anything match the disappointment kids feel when they discover it’s not the Leaning Tower of Pizza, or the Specific Ocean.
Sometimes, I’m reluctant to leave my house because I’m afraid that the rhythm is going to get me.
They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but I just taught an 8-year-old giant Schnauzer to drive. Now, if he’d just hurry back with my car.
I’m guessing MTV is still called MTV because the Following People Around with a Camera Waiting for Them to Do Something Stupid Network takes up too much space.
It can’t just be a coincidence that Kurt Cobain and Richard Nixon died within a month of one another.
In the song 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, Paul Simon really only gives us one or two workable ideas, and one is contingent on another. If one is not able to slip out the back, how can one possibly hop on the bus? Simon provides no clarification. How many more people must founder about looking for ways to leave their lovers before this situation is rectified?
If you’re going to write a song about shooting the sheriff, you might as well go ahead and take responsibility for the deputy as well.
Apparently these days, shippers are paying Fedex and UPS just to put things in the mail for them.
Some guy once stole my identity. Twenty-four hours later, he gave it back with sincere apologies.
I believe Thanksgiving and Black Friday fall back to back so we can get Gluttony and Avarice checked off our deadly sins list before the start of Christmas season.
We hear a lot about Shark week, but when will it be Jet Week?
Does anyone else think it was weird that Kennedy was shot while riding in a Lincoln?
After fifty, one isn’t a Back Street Boy, but a Back Problem Boy.
Billie Jean is not my lover. She’s just a tennis player I would sometimes see on television when I was a kid.
I wonder if the patrons inside Ford’s Theater got tickets for another performance of Our American Cousin.
It saddens me to know Conway Twitty didn’t live long enough to see Twitter.
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself — and assassins from the future.