Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Cooking Up Laughter

My cooking is atrocious. It is so bad that when it's time to set the table, the dish runs away with the spoon.

My cooking is so bad that neighborhood dogs had the health department close down my trash cans.

I went to the doctor last week, and he told me to change my diet. So, instead of country-fried steak, I'm now eating suburban-fried steak.

Gas prices are so high that rival gang members have to car pool to their drive-by shootings.

Gas prices are so high, I'm thinking of buying a hybrid. I found a good deal on a used one fueled by feet and a pterodactyl.

The musician made a career move to the land of California earthquakes. He never made it into the Rock 'n Roll Hall of fame, but his house did.

When the 6.5 earthquake rearranged my furniture, one thing became clear. Mother Nature doesn't practice Feng Shui.

You know you're losing your sex appeal when your hour-glass figure starts taking up 12 hours.

Middle age is when rock 'n roll starts involving a chair and a bed.

You know you're unlucky when you arrive at the station to board the midnight train to Georgia and you find out it left at noon.

You know you're unlucky when you order a happy meal and get a disgruntled meal.

I hate Sudoku for numbers of reasons – specifically one through nine.