My clothes dryer is never broken. The wind will never stop.
Cars ruined it.
Less is more, more or less.
If there was a black family cast for that show, it could have been called Full Hizouse. Either that, or a really lame white family attempting to be cool. Or just a show about Snoop Dogg.
Funeral: Why would you waste money on me? I’m dead. Buy yourself some food. Let’s get real here.
History might just be a lie someone told.
When I die, just remember me eating an apple.
If people could just eat grass to survive, I wouldn’t have a job.
Some sort of metaphor: Every cloud is a wave in a different form.
Life is a round trip.
We don’t see the contradiction of a Massachusetts Environmental Police truck driving down the road.
Pretty soon humans will be using gloves to take a shower. “Hey, put your gloves on before washing your body, you are going to get yourself sick!” “How disgusting to use your dirty hands to clean your body off!” Can’t you see this happening?
When someone voluntarily decides to no longer live with money, I wonder how they plan to cut their fingernails.
If words are weapons, I might be a killer.
If time is money, I might be rich.
If life is too short, I hope I am enjoying it too much to notice.
Who the hell went and told Pitbull that he is talented?
You wipe the tears away, but the memory is still there.
Text your mom about poop. I freakin dare ya.
I fondly remember you coming around, old chap. Whatever happened to that? I haven’t seen you in so long. I haven’t felt you in what feels like forever. I could use a hug. But then again, you did try to bust my kneecaps with that bat when I wasn’t looking. What was up with that?! You still love me though, I believe that. Perhaps you never did at all. Either way, I put my hair in piggy tails for you and looked in the mirror blowing a smooch to you even though you live 600 miles away. Take that.
All money is dirty. All of it.
Gandhi rode first class.
The personal cost is the price you are willing to pay when you know what you are doing is right.
My cat Randy Marsh likes organic ketchup.
You can rhyme some words, but can you have them make sense in that order or do all your rhymes border on chaos and disorder?
Reality is a pole bent in water. We see the bend, but not what is really there. Our own life is the water distorting the pole so that it looks like it bends once it hits the water. Do we ever get to see what the pole actually looks like, how it actually is, where it actually is without looking like it’s bent in the water? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does really.
Relax, the Pope is right about everything.
I might get a Scarlet Letter for saying this, but Huckleberry Finn can blow my Moby Dick.
Thanks for reading, John.