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AinsleyofAttack

  1. If it's the clothes that make the man, it's the sunglasses that make the douche.
  2. Thank God for spare tires. My old one was as flat as a Russian gymnast.
  3. For neurologists to call them "mini-stokes" is so two years ago. They really should rebrand them "100 Calorie Pack Strokes."
  4. Three of my friends just got engaged over the course of two days. Zales must be having a sale.
  5. All right, microwave, so you're broken. That doesn't mean you can just sit there. Welcome to life as a cabinet, meet my new box of crackers.
  6. The words "seafood" and "fiesta" should never be used in tandem to describe anything that goes in one's mouth. Well, almost anything.
  7. Mosquitoes really need lightening bugs' PR guy.
  8. I can't declare independence from my neighbor's stereo system and his love of Motley Crue's Greatest Hits. The bombs, cursing, big hair...
  9. Shopping. It's like Y2K reinvented itself to be in July, involve a meat shortage, and only Ore Ida potatoes will keep the zombies at bay.
  10. When history shows mention thumb screws I forget they're a torture device, not just a mutually unsatisfying amateur heavy-petting technique.
  11. Maybe there are only dinosaurs in heaven.
  12. The deli guy's shocked that I know which Yankees are on the DL. I'm guessing the only list he thinks a woman pays attention to is grocery.
  13. Not having a phone is like breaking both hands while making out. Then your penis evaporates. And customer service is closed until 7AM CST.
  14. The refrigerator and my cellphone enacted "Romeo and Juliet" today. "It is humid in the east, and my appliances don't run." Exeunt.
  15. It's a little-known fact that the etymology of the term "rush hour" was actually the misheard Latin translation for "douche hour."
  16. Well, at least he can do remake of Thriller.
  17. A penitentiary or Christian electronics store would be great places for a massive television blaring The 700 Club. A doctor's office is not.
  18. Actual conversation: (Silence) Me: "Do you dream?" Mom: "Yes. Last night I dreamt you shot me to death." My life, written by Samuel Beckett.
  19. Hanging a dreamcatcher from a rearview mirror makes no sense. Maybe it's the motorist equivalent of a medical alert bracelet for narcolepsy.
  20. Doctor: "Some people read tea leaves, I read cervixes." Since he tried six tools and made me both scream and cry, I wish I'd used a psychic.