I heard on the radio that men and women dream differently, especially their nightmares. Women have bad dreams about interpersonal relationships. Men dream about disasters and external threats. Great. Now even my dreams aren’t manly enough.
If you ingest too much Teflon, do you get the runs?
With all these awareness campaigns about mental illness, I’m worried I’ve become a mental hypochondriac. But what kind of mental illness do I have? Do I have mental meningitis? Or is it just a mental head cold?
How come I can’t smell the inside of my nose?
I think I’ll invent a cologne. I’ll call it Musty Drawer for Men.
I like it when I wake up and the clock reads “3:50,” only I’m so sleepy I don’t see the colon, so instead it looks like “350,” and I fall back to sleep imagining my room is a giant oven and I’m slowly roasting to a golden brown.
The first-ever volunteer was probably Noah. God: “Hey, Noah, I have a favour to ask you. It should only take a couple of hours. I’d ask someone else but everybody’s so unreliable these days and corrupt in mine eyes. Say, do you own a pair of rubber boots?”
Everybody thinks books are so great. But what if, instead of being printed on paper and neatly bound, books were big messy blobs you smeared all over yourself. “Eeuuu! Look at that disgusting reader. How can she be so literate like that? Doesn’t it bother her? If she would just read less, she’d actually be pretty.” Wait, that last part is a real thing people say.
The importance of a good book title can never be overestimated. Imagine if Love in the Time of Cholera had been called Look Who’s Cramping!
I have zero social skills. Correction: I have four social skills.
Celebrating 150 years of people narrowing their eyes in the hopes of seeing things more clearly, would that be called a sesquisquintennial?
When people want to pin down the source of a sound, why do they put their glasses on?
Speaking of glasses, I should get that laser eye surgery. Laser eyes would be awesome!
When you’re at a basketball game, and the players on the bench are chanting in that shout-and-response way, “Defence. DEFENCE! Defence. DEFENCE!” it kind of sounds like they’re saying “Cheesecake. CHEESECAKE! Cheesecake. CHEESECAKE!”
What if I wanted to send a legitimate email to someone with the subject line “Find you lover passion tonight with pills amazing!!!”
I may be in a conflict of disinterest.
When I said to my daughter, “I see you’re wearing a Pink Floyd shirt,” she replied, “It’s not pink.” Should I be worried?
I think I might change all my passwords to curse words.
From now on, I want everyone to address me by my first and last names all the time. “Ross Murray, do you want some toast?” “Ross Murray, you’re shirt’s on backwards again.” “Ross Murray, do you have bail money?”
If I had a personal brand, I bet it would be no-name personal brand.
Should I apply for that job as a Customer Success Manager? And what is that?
I’m going to title my memoir Everybody’s Ruining the World But Me.
At my age, pretty soon I’m going to be attending a lot more funerals. On the plus side, I’ll probably also start going to weddings – our kids’ weddings, our friends’ kids’ wedding. I’d rather go to weddings than funerals. I should get some friends.
I heard about this guy who was on trial for war crimes, and his alibi was that he couldn’t have committed all those alleged atrocities because he was far too debilitated by his all-consuming obsession with cows. He told the judge, “I was only following udders.”
I wonder if this committee meeting is ever going to end?