There are times when directness is best. Like if you’re an air traffic controller. What’s important is not that you make the pilot feel supported in his life goals but that he brings the plane to a stop on the runway instead of in some lady’s pool.
If only giving you a hand financially worked like giving medicine to a dog, then your boyfriend could just grind up some money and sneak it into your food.
A lot of people use Facebook to announce their accomplishments: “I became CEO of the company!” “I got into Juilliard!” And then there’s your friend: “We had sex without birth control, and look at what happened!”
It’s Jesus’ birthday, but seeing as you guys aren’t that close, you figured he wouldn’t mind if you skipped it.
You need to establish a new house rule: “Residents and their guests can experience only one climate at a time.”
I like to offer “Don’t have sex!” as a form of practical advice — usually just as I’m getting into my flying car.
You lost your girlfriend and were thinking, “At least I have my job.” Then you lost your job and were thinking, “At least I have my confidence.” Whatever happens, don’t say, “At least I have my penis.”
Nobody wants to be the one to tell a guy that his attempted sexy-man scruff is a ringer for a Hobbit’s feet or plant life struggling up after a nuclear winter.
Desperation is always so sexy — like Abraham Lincoln in a lime-green mankini.
In touch football, you’re only supposed to put a hand or two on another player — as opposed to, oh, tearing out his soul with your bare hands, grinding it into a fine powder, and sprinkling it on your cornflakes.