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One of my favorite things is when a parent tells me how hard it is to raise children but, if I try to participate in the conversation, that I can’t really relate to their life unless I have kids. So why did you tell me a story you knew I couldn’t relate to then? You’d be a terrible screenwriter. You don’t know your audience at all. I expect a full refund for the movie ticket I bought from you within 3-5 weeks.

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My next door neighbor left for work this morning and never came back so I was starting to think maybe he was murdered mysteriously and Dateline would probably need to interview me as part of the investigation so I should have some funny one-liners ready because it would probably be my big break into comedy but then he came home all alive and ruined my career as a celebrity.

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I typically don’t say “nice to meet you” when I’m first introduced to someone new because I won’t know if that’s true until I see how long it takes for them to annoy me. I prefer not to lie. It would be like posting a Yelp review for a restaurant while I’m still waiting to be seated.

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I didn’t check for toilet paper before I “sat down” and there wasn’t any. I had to set the bathroom on fire so I could call the fire dept to rescue me without their snap judgements over a situation that could’ve happened to anyone really.

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A woman called me asking for donations for her charity. After explaining what the charity does she asked if she could send me a pledge card. I said no thanks, I didn’t have any extra money to give. After listening carefully, she re-explained what the charity does since I hadn’t heard her correctly and then asked for money again. I said that despite it being 30 seconds later, I still hadn’t made enough money from being on the phone with her to have any to spare. I should have asked her for a raise.

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Lawyer: And do you see him in the courtroom today?

Witness: Yes.

Lawyer: Would you please point to him?

*witness points*

Lawyer: Let the record show she’s identified the deity Jehovah as the one-armed assailant who killed Mrs Kimball. I rest my case.

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I still don’t know what P. Diddy wants me to take or why he’s so damn insistent about it.

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A really not-insane looking guy with a face tattoo came by my house to fix my gas meter last night & explained that I didn’t need to watch him working alone in my basement. He “got this” he said. I felt really bad that I couldn’t take him up on that generous offer because of this weird habit I have of not letting strangers walk around my home unsupervised. I have this obsessive-compulsion to not do that. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve actually put locks on all my doors AND use them. I’m a monster!

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I have a very special night planned. First I’m going to go home, maybe turn on the tv, watch a little Judge Judy, you know, just to get the mood right. Then I’ll microwave some leftovers and eat them while I watch YouTube, the way the ladies like it. And just to keep the heat going I’ll probably play some video games before going to sleep early. That’s right, you know how I do. Basically I’ll be turning that mother out, big time.

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Scene 1: A house burning down.

Scene 2: Me sitting on the couch, flipping channels.

Scene 3: Me turning on the toaster, walking out of the kitchen & immediately forgetting about the toast.

-My version of ‘Memento’