Creek of Consciousness

New Study Suggests Bald Assholes Think Stuffed Koala Bears Are Babies.

Grandfather clocks are too expensive. Unless grandfathers actually turn into clocks when they die – then they’d be totally worth it. I’d buy the Rodney Dangerfield grandfather clock so that time would be hilarious and get no respect.

The happiest place on Earth is not Disney World. The happiest place on Earth is the ice cream rainbow that Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny sleep on.

Sew what? is the best name for a sewing store. It works on so many levels. Well, only two levels, but still – that’s a decent amount of levels for a store filled with sewing crap.

One thing I learned from camping is that a balled-up t-shirt is not a pillow.

Sometimes I’m uncomfortable with the thoughts that materialize in my brain. Once, I was in the middle of a conversation with a pregnant woman when a friend suggested she have the baby in water. Instantly, I thought, “No, you should have the baby in my mouth!” Anyway, I had to leave that conversation immediately.

Dial-up porn was a nipple treasure hunt.

It’s funny when businesses are overly literal. Northern California is home to a chain of grocery stores called Ray’s Food Place. Ray apparently doesn’t know that the English language provides words such as “supermarket,” “delicatessen,” and “restaurant” to describe “food places”. Please let him know by e-mailing him at RaysElectronicMailingAddress@InternetServerLocation.com.

Everything looks grosser in a pile - garbage, ants, and happy people.

I witnessed the loneliest moment of a complete stranger’s life when I walked into that enormous interstate restroom and noticed a single pair of legs peeking out amidst a dozen unoccupied stalls while the John Tesh version of Silent Night echoed softly off the dirty porcelain urinals.

We’re all scared of bugs and it’s irrational because they’re so tiny. That’s like the beanstalk being afraid of Jack. Beanstalks don’t even have emotions, Terry Schiavo.

My religion is very unique. Sure, I eat unlevened bread and drink wine blood. But I believe the universe is actually a skin cell on the fourth labia of a Spaceapotomous. It’s not a very popular religion. Yeah, just me and Bob Villa.

Hair Math! Comb over is the square root of toupee.

We need to reevaluate the classification of dreams and nightmares. I keep having these seemingly “awesome” dreams where I’m handpicked by Louis C.K. to write comedy for Conan O’Brien or I’m madly in love with some beautiful girl from the past whom I never had the opportunity to date. But as far as I’m concerned, these dreams are infinitely more nightmarish than that one about endlessly falling into a menstrual volcano in the shape of Rosie O’Donnell’s pumpkin head during Big Bird’s muppet funeral.