What is your deal I'm serious what

Gary: Fats, man. Let me tell you my story, man. Last year, I was insane for this crazy little eighth grade bitch. OK?

Fats: Crazy insane?

Fred: Insane?

Vince: Crazy?

Gary: I was nuts for the woman, man. Now you gotta believe me. I’m ser—I’m tellin the truth, here, I’m speakin to you. I mean I was nuts for the girl. And what did it to me was these big titties she had.

Fred: Big titties now, ha ha!

Gary: She wouldn’t have to worry bout no titties for the rest of her life, boy, you know, she was set, and she was lookin good, son.

Wyatt: Dat’s the truth, baby.

Gary: I called every night for like a month. I mean I’m talking devotion, man.

Mitch: Every damn night?

Gary: Every night, Mitch, I ain’t playin with you.

Fred: On the telephone?

Gary: [pause] What this boy talkin bout, on the telephone, man?

Fats: Explain it to him!

Gary: Fats, goddamn we know there’s a telephone, boy, what the heck—

Lisa: But he hung up on her.

Fred: Awww you didn’t hang up on her. The chick with those big big titties?

Gary: I hung up on the bitch. Now here’s the capper: You know what the bitch did to me?

Mitch: Lay it on me.

Gary: Check this shit out, listen to what she did to me. She—

Lisa: Kneed you in the nuts and called him faggot in front of everybody.

Mitch: She did what?

Vince: Bitch kneed your nuts?

Gary: Bitch kneed my nuts, man, I’m not playin with you.

Fats: In the family jewels?

Gary: In the family jewels, man.

Wyatt: Worse pain there is.

Gary: Broke my heart in two.

Fats: Broke more’n your heart.

Gary: Yeah Fats you know what I’m sayin baby.

Mitch: [gesturing at Lisa] You can forget that other one, coz you got this fine jewel sitting right over here by you.

Gary: Ain’t that the truth, baby, that’s the plain truth!

[goes for high five, collapses]

Fred: There he goes!

Lisa: Party’s over!

Gary: Party’s over, said the girl! Kay, we’ll get outta here.

Finally

http://twitter.com/galifianakis

I had a dream I was going out with Meg White. It was rad. But my dream director made her speak only in Spanish, I guess because he’s never heard her actually speak in real life? And had to think on his feet? Always with the quick solution, my dream director. (But maybe it’s time he graduated from family-friendly fare to something with a hard R?)

I think comics might be taken more seriously if they stopped using all caps in the lettering? I mean it’s 2006 here, people. Or whatever year it is. I’m not into the details, I’m into big thinking.

Peon #1: Oh my god, who wrote “Happy birthday!” in the “Loss of your father” sympathy card?

Peon #2: Clearly it was Lance. Who else is that stupid?

Lance: What did I do? Oh, it’s fine, let’s just use Wite-Out, he won’t know the difference.

Peon #2: Didn’t you read the card? Or look at it? It’s blue, how’s “white” out supposed to fix it?

Lance: What, it’s always someone’s birthday around here, since when do we do sympathy cards?

Peon #1: Since my grandma died and you wrote “Thanks for all your hard work.”

[ source ]

How I Know I'm Not a Writer

I haven’t read Hemingway or Faulkner or Melville or Chekhov or Dostoevsky or Austen or Dickens but last night I made it a priority to finally see Point Break because it was urgent that I fill this embarrassing gap in my knowledge of the world. And it was, indeed, 100% pure adrenaline. Next up: Road House.

40. Dear Don Draper, My kids have had a lemonade stand all summer and they can't seem to sell more than 3 cups a day. Any advice?

whatwoulddondraperdo:

They’ll do much better after they get tired of sitting there and lose themselves in play and start to circle their bikes and drag their toys through the grass and mark the sidewalks with colored chalk. When that lemonade stand sits in the middle of lazy games of tag, carefree laughter and flashes of stained gingham and sun-bleached hair, no passing neighbor will be able to resist. That sweating pitcher will glow with innocence and optimism. With youth. Any man’d be glad to buy a glass and just stand there, wiping the taste of an endless summer afternoon from his lips. Hell, he’d buy four.

Rejected Twitter Post No. TMI

Having sex with me is sort of like moshing at a Fugazi show. I’m all: “Can you please not do that? Do I have to call Security?”