Nail gun lobotomy? Or maybe that was my band name in the 00’s. I don’t remember for some reason.

I’ll call it Windows 11.

That’s a mom that knows that they’re ALL much cuter when they’re alseep.

Stomp: “I’ll have a rum . . . . And coke.”

Bartender: “why the pause?”

Stomp: “Dunno, I’ve always had them.”

Raw irritated penis

I can tell when the batteries on my cordless mouse have died. There’s a strange feeling of resistance when the mouse is active, but when it’s dead, nothing.

So a shitgun instead of a poostol.

You don’t know old until you’ve had to change the IRQ for your sound card because wolf3d.exe’s settings were different than swotl.exe.

Gimme a stoner any day. Better than trying to talk a roided up jock half way through a bottle of tequila out of punching his nana. I don’t consume myself because weed just puts me to sleep. I guess I’m mellow enough.

I have revived multiple computers and my mom’s windshield wipers with concussive application of a rubber chicken.

Diesel too?

My cat is obsessed with my socks. If a load of clean laundry has been left too long before it gets folded and put away, my socks will be scattered throughout the house.

Did both parties involved in the transaction get fired?

As are pretzel buns.