There's a new car parts store in town. It's called Victor's Secrets. I bought my Honda, a brand new, black, lacy, cross-my-grill bra. Not only is it comfortable, but now my high beams are perfectly aligned.

My doctor has me eating this God-awful oatmeal every morning to lower my cholesterol. I found it goes down much easier if I imagine my spoon is an airplane and make the corresponding plane sounds to guide it into my mouth. It really works. So far, only two co-workers in the lunchroom have complained.

I couldn't believe my ears when I listened to the news this morning. They're trying to blame the high cost of gasoline on overweight Americans. Presumably, research has found that it takes more gas to move them around. I realize, it's irresponsible to drink and drive, but now I'm afraid folks will start being arrested for fat driving.

Do you ever wish that you could drink enough triple-shot espresso's, that your head would blow up and a happier life would pop out of your face? Me either.

When I remember that a twenty-six-year-old patent office clerk formulated the theory of relativity, I never want to be realistic again.

In the checkout line at the supermarket, I like to pretend I am passing through Customs and I have an undeclared item in my cart.

I never thought I would admit this, but I have secret romantic feelings for Danny DeVito.

Sometimes, when I'm walking through the park, I fear that really thin bears are hiding behind the trees or that squirrels will drop twigs that will lodge in my scalp.

Did you know, there is no safe seat on a plane?