Here’s an idea: You blame me and I’ll blame you. Then we can both join Howard Jones in singing, “No one is to blame.”
Everyone is getting crazier. And poorer. Which is making everyone even crazier.
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I once wrote a 100,000-word book. But don’t worry, I managed to edit it down to just over one million words.
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A hundred dollars used to have value. Now it has grown fat and worthless. Or has it grown so skinny as to be useless?
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If I were the world’s richest man, I’d present myself as the world’s poorest, because I’d want people to want me for me. In fact, I’m so poor I want to be Guinness verified as The World’s Poorest—and I’m even willing to pay for the title (a bribe).
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Do you enjoy being out in nature? By 2030, when you’re living in your 20 by 30 cement stacked box in the city, you’ll probably be able to rent walks in the park for ONLY $19.95 per month.
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I’m hoping that makes duck farmers the second sexiest. I suppose I’ll have to fight guys who raise chickens for the runner-up title.
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The wars are all fraudulent, but I always thank every soldier for their service, because the military cross promotes with The NFL, and God made beer just for Americans, so if you don’t VOTE you are a Communist and a Nazi and you probably don’t let your wife make love to strange men while you watch.
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If you work for a multinational corporation that goes Full Rainbow in June, I’m an advocate for quiet quitting. In fact, that’s not enough. You need to be actively subversive at work.
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The NFL product is so good it belongs in a can. It would be like Campbell’s vegetable soup, only chunkier.
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