I never ask my dentist and his wife to come for dinner. If he hears about a party, he complains, “Why gingivitis over?“
If anorexic models are banned – it proves there is too thin advertising.
Whenever I see a sick ungulate, I rip its clothes off. Which makes me a barer of bad gnus.
What did the Scottish dwarf have under his garments? Rumpled kilt skin.
I was picked to clean the floor of a slaughterhouse. It was like winning the sweep steaks.
I wanted to get a perm but the hairdresser was so busy. I had to wait in a curly queue.
I’m leaving Pamplona, in search of more no-bull pursuits.
They gave my mother’s sister a speeding ticket, which hurts my fine auntses.
My risqué Ph.D philosophy thesis, ‘The Metaphysics of Raw Sewage’, was received with in crud duality.
I sang my children to sleep. Does that make me a kid napper?