Ignore these four words.

There are some people who are so nondescript that if their identities were stolen it would be an improvement.

TRUE FACT: It’s against the law to mutilate grave remains. So apparently, it’s not illegal to be in possession of grave remains, the trouble starts when you mutilate them. Nice distinction.

I have an /^personal trainer. We meet at the gym, we don’t talk, he works out alone and I go home.

Here’s how money can buy happiness: Money gives you options, options give you breathing room, breathing room gives you control and control can offer you a measure of happiness. Maybe.

TRUE FACT: You can now buy vibrating panties. They’re a kind of thong with a built-in vibrator. Just what we needed.

If no one knows when a person is going to die, how can we say he died prematurely?

I can’t help it, I just have this gut feeling that the Mafia is controlled by organized crime. I don’t know what it is, but something fishy is going on.

I wonder if a classical music composer ever intentionally composed a piano piece that was physically impossible to play and then stuck it away in a trunk to be found years after his death, knowing it would forever drive perfectionist musicians crazy.

Why don’t these guys named Allen, Allan, Allyn and Alan get together and decide how the fuck to spell their name? I’m tired of guessing. The same with Sean, Shaun and Shawn. Stop with all these cute attempts to be different. If you wanna be different, call yourself Margaret Mary.

All patriarchal societies are either preparing for war, at war, or recovering from war.

Somebody said to me, “I can’t believe Jerry Garcia is dead.” And I thought, Doesn’t this guy know? Everybody’s dead. It’s all a matter of degree.

I can t wait for the sun to explode; it’s gonna be great. Just three billion years. I’m so fuckin’ impatient.

If you have a legal problem, guess how you determine whether or not you need a lawyer. You see a lawyer. Isn’t that weird?

Middlebrow bumper sticker in California: IF YOU CAN DREAM IT, YOU CAN DO IT. Yeah, sure. Unless the thing you’re dreaming is impossible. Then, chances are, you can’t do it. But try to enjoy life anyway.

UI collect rocks.” “How many you got?” ‘One. I just started.”

Advice to kids: Get high on sports, not drugs. But if there are no sports in your neighborhood, go ahead and get high on drugs.

If you had yourself cloned, who, exactly, would be your parents? Can you raise yourself? I guess so. And it might be fun. Just think, by the age of six you’d be driving yourself to school.

Regarding creationists: Aren’t these the same people who gave us alchemy and astrology, and who told us the earth, besides being flat, was at the center of the universe? Why don’t we just kill these ruckin’ people?

Idle thought: Do you suppose a perverted priest has ever tried to stick a crucifix up a kid’s ass? Just wondering.

The wrong two Beatles died first.

I wonder if anyone who was working in or near the World Trade Center that day took advantage of all the confusion to simply disappear. What a great way to get away from your family.

Indoor electric illumination is often referred to as “artificial light.” How can it be artificial? The way I look at it is this: If I can read by it, see myself in the mirror and recognize my friends, it’s probably as real as I’m ever going to need it to be.

You know what you never see anymore? A guy with a pencil behind his

ear.

TRUE FACT: One of those clubs that feature nude dancers recently got in trouble with the government because it didn’t have wheelchair ramps.

Here’s something I don’t care about in a movie or a TV show: a blind girl. “This is the story of a blind girl who . . .’ CLICK!’You know what? As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing they can do with a blind girl . . . well, maybe a couple of things, but there’s nothing they can tell me about a blind girl that’s going to interest me. I don’t care that she’s blind; I don’t care if she learns how to communicate with geese; I don’t care if she can identify three hundred different flowers from their smell. I really don’t care. Does she fuck? Now you’re talkin’!

FART RETRIEVAL LEAGUE

“Hello. I’m Fred Ponsaloney III, president of the Fart Retrieval League. We all know that millions of farts are released by Americans each day, but did you know not all of them are free to rejoin the atmosphere? It’s true. A small but significant number of farts each day are hopelessly trapped in seat cushions, suspended forever in cotton padding or foam rubber. We’re asking you to help rescue these forgotten farts by sending your donations to the Fart Retrieval League. We’ll send you a booklet entitled The Facts on Farts. And next rime you’re in a hotel lobby, do your part: Jump up and down on a seat cushion for several minutes and liberate a few trapped farts.”

AS THE TURD WHIRLS

The Noodleman Twins Television Network proudly presents America’s longest-running daytime drama, As The Turd Whirls, a day-to-day chronicle of ordinary people desperately in need of professional intervention and perhaps even cranial surgery. Take a break in your day as once again we flush the toilet of life, and as blue water fills the bowl, we watch, fascinated. . . .As the Turd Whirls.

(Romantic violin music is heard as a well-built man approaches a beautiful woman in an upscale bar)

VINNY: Hi. You wanna play a game? NADIA: What kind of game? VINNY: It’s called Count the Man’s Balls. NADIA: Die in a fire, bourgeois scum!

VINNY: We really should get together, I’m an interesting guy. I can take a live cock-a-roach and put it up my nose and pretend it’s not there. I also like to do unusual things to small woodland mammals, but not until I pull out all their claws. Otherwise, look out! Lots of screaming from Vinny. I’ll bet you never dated a guy like me. Believe me, I’m worth a try.

NADIA: I wouldn’t go home with you if you had six dicks.

VINNY: Come on. I purposely didn’t jerk off today just so I could take someone home. You wanna compare hard-ons?

NADIA: I’m a woman, trouser-stain! VINNY: So? Lemme see your hard-on.

NADIA: Listen! I can’t take the time to explain anatomy to you. I’ve been waiting all day just to get out of this tight underwear. I’m getting real moist in my groin area. I’d love to take off my clothes and have someone massage me, firmly but gently, all around my crotch. My female organs are warm and pulsating, and I can smell the sexual fluids and secretions flowing out of me and mingling with my sweat.

VINNY: Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go to my house.

NADIA: Okay, but no sex. Understand?

VINNY: Fine by me. But can I at least jerk off? I waited all day.

Join us again tomorrow on As the Turd Whirls, as Trent has to decide whether to blow the mailman in exchange for free stamps.

THE FARMING RACKET

Farmers are on government welfare and you pay for it. Good year, bad year doesn’t matter. They still get money. In a bad yeardrought or floodsthe crop is poor, incomes drop, farmers can’t make their payments and they need financial help; you pay for it. In a good yearfavorable weatherthere’s a bumper crop, prices fall, income drops, farmers can’t make their payments and they need financial help; you pay for it. Either way, farmers win, you lose. Oh well, I guess we should be grateful; at least there’s plenty of tasteless food, all safely sprayed and filled with contaminants. You know, “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts …”

CELLULAR CHITCHAT

You know what I don’t understand? People on the street having casual conversations on a cell phone. Casual stuff. Walking along, just visiting.

“So how’s Ellen? Good. Tell her I said hello.”

Too casual for me. You know what a cell-phone call oughta sound like?

“Hello, Tony? Listen, my pants are on fire. I’m going’ to the fire house. What? Take my pants off? Good idea. Thanks. Listen, say hello to Ellen, will ya? I gotta go, my bush is catching fire.”