Drew Carey
Ever get stuck walking behind old people in a crowd? No matter how hard you try you can’t get around them. Then out of nowhere, they just stop, like their batteries went dead. It’s like they have a sixth sense about getting in people’ way. They should be guarding Jordan.
Your high school reunion. You get that letter in the mail. You feel like you only have six months to make something of yourself.
I’m not good in bed. Hell, I’m not even good on the couch.
Drive-through liquor stores, that’s almost a good idea. Just the thing for that drunk driver who’s constantly on the go. “Hey, no time to go to a real bar, I’ve got places to go, people to hit.”
In high school, I was in the marching band, so you know the babes were all over me.
I’m not a good lover, but at least I’m fast.
I have a list I made when I was twelve of things I wanted to do before I die. Omigod. How embarrassing. No. 1: Touch a boobie.
Dolphin-safe tuna, that’s great if you’re a dolphin. What is you’re a tuna? Somewhere there’s a tuna flopping around a ship going, “What about me? I’m not cute enough for you?”
I’m chunky. In a bathing suit I look like a Bartlett pear with a rubber band around it.
They say that exercise and proper diet are the keys to a longer, healthier life. Watch for my next book, How I Died While Jogging.
The only comfort you can take from eating at a Denny’s is that you know for sure that all over America, everyone else at a Denny’s is just as unhappy as you are.
