I’m actually thinking of getting a dog. My parents actually said to me the other day, “Your little apartment? That’s a horrible, terrible place for a dog.” Yeah, but I live there. At least the dog doesn’t have to shave in the toilet like I do.
Hard alcohol is the only thing you put in your body that actually comes with a story. It’s like, “You want some tequila?” “No dude, that last time I had that…”
Doesn’t happen with anything else. “You want some jelly beans?” “No. The last time I had jelly beans I ended up with my pants around my ankles, face down in the wall. Seriously dude, I can’t even smell the black ones. Just get ‘em out of here?”
You don’t like pets, pet people act like you’re a monster. “You don’t like pets? You’re so mean!” Really, I’m mean? I’m not the one keeping a live animal hostage in my apartment. “He loves me.” Really? Open the door.
Even every day ends the same, doesn’t it? “What do you want for dinner?” “I don’t know. What do you want for dinner?” “How about a gun in my mouth so we never have to talk about his again?”