Category: Quips

The key to my exercise program is this one simple truth: I hate my body.”

Hey, do you know any women who hate themselves enough to actually date me?

Feelings.” That’s a good one.”

Okay, here’s the deal. If we’re gonna beat this thing, and we damn sure are, we’re gonna do it one way and one way only. We’re gonna be a team! We’re gonna be a team, team, team, team, team! You hear me?

Give my ex-wife, here, a physical. And don’t be afraid of that third eye on her chest. Just remember, it’s just as scared of you as you are of it.

What could you possibly want from me in exchange for my support? Because I’m telling you right now, I am not dating that daughter of yours.

The man’s 92 years old, he has full dementia, he doesn’t even know we’re here. He is inches from Carla’s rack and he hasn’t even flinched.

Look, worst case scenario, you kill somebody, and that hangs over your head the rest of your life.

Jordan. What a coincidence! You were in my dream last night. I can’t say for certain, but I was having the flesh torn from my bones by a cross-eyed water snake — you, right?

Listen, girlfriend, I don’t wanna hear your misguided romantic notions. You see, for me, sex is a sport — like racquet-ball: You play hard for a half an hour, work up a sweat, and hope you don’t get hit in the eye.