The Toothbrush
I think my toothbrush is gay. I found it in my bum. I was lying in a field of cauliflower when a man from the Charleston, North Carolina approached me. He said, “sir, I reckon you’ve got a brush in your bum.”
“A who in my what?” I said.
“A brush in your bum. A floss in your cross. A stick in your hole.” He replied.
“Well good golly by the mother of the Massachusetts Mayor, how did that get there!?”
“I don’t know,” said the man.
“Well, it’s a great day for the crops to grow ain’t it?” I replied.
“Sure is.” Then he walked away.
Neighborly Grace
“You smoking crow tonight?”
“Oh by the grace of Clay Aiken’s face you bet your sweet little tits I am.”
“Well son of a Stanislaus State graduate, the kids will love that.”
“Ah, Jimmy Bones. It warms my heart when you talk about your munchkins.”
“Hey, speaking of warmed hearts. I meant to ask you, did you ever get that ringworm prescription?
“You know what, as a matter of lactose-free deodorant, I did.”
“Well slap me in circles and call me a dirty little testicle, that’s phenomenal news.”
Countenance
A skinny man with a cashew for an eye and a wheelchair for a face came up to me today. He said “sir, I’m not too fond of your countenance.”
“My countenance?” I replied. “How dare you question my countenance in a setting like this.”
“Mmmmmm. You’ll have to prove yourself in a battle of wits,” he said.
“You have no right to disrespect me in front of my cousins like this. I made charcuterie!”
“Mmmmmm. You’ll have to prove yourself in a battle of wits.”
“Well, with who am I battling?”
“With whom. With whom. And it was I. And you have lost.”
“Blasphemy!”
“You’re stupid, sir.”
“I am no such thing!” I defended.
“Mmmmmm.”
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