Lance Armstrong felt better after appearing on Oprah. She gave him performance-enhancing hugs. Nonetheless, Lance committed male fraud: He was master of the pellets-on. Somehow he never failed his testes—he didn’t stop until he had one. Now, stripped of his Tour titles, the most shocking revelation is that Lance has a No Jersey accent. Anyway I guess it’s back to eating Sheryl Crow. [The Gents thank Ashley, Bryan and Jordan for collaborating on today’s puns!]
My friend took joint ownership in a grow-op, out in the Hempsteads. The place had gone to weed and needed grass, but after applying some THC–tender hearted care–it looked spliffy in no time.
What did one meth addict say to the other? Let’s be frenzy.
As an art buff, I’m always hopped up on sedatives. Life is more anaesthetically pleasing that way.
Feeling lazy and depressed? Tricycline.
Cowboys don’t roll joints. They tumble weed.
The value of medicinal marijuana is a bit doobious. It shouldn’t be token seriously. Don’t get your nose out of joint, but there is a lot of spliffy new research that says so—420 new papers a year.
Breaking (Wind) News!
Check out Pat’s performance at the 2009 O. Henry Pun-Off:
When Rob Ford came back it was like ‘Release the Crackin!‘
In a bizarre experiment to cure drug addicts, they fed them stimulants that made them feel obese and cranky, aka amfatandmeans.
It’s easier to fake a drug test than urea lies.