Perhaps you’d enjoy visiting Big Bone Lick State Park. I drive by the highway sign for that place a couple of times a year and snicker to myself each time.
Oh cripes…that “Cock Yogurt” one made me snort loud enough to cause some major cubicle gophering here in the office.
“Cubicle gophering.” Heehee.
A couple from my childhood which still draw a smile:
Sitting in the library and noticing that A History of Art had a bad, bad word in it.
Reading an old manuscript which mentioned “fea ferpents.”
Every time Mrs. Wheelz and I see a commercial for the “Super Duty” pickup truck, one of us must yell “Super Doody!” as if it were a comic-book superhero, then we both laugh. Every. Time.
I guess I am immature because I laugh even thinking about the (unsubstantiated) commentary by Brian Johnston on a 1976 Test match between England and the West Indies, where firey West Indian paceman Michael Holding had the ball and dour English batsman/off spinner Peter Willey was at the crease.
According to many people (including co-commentator Henry Blofeld), Johnners deadpanned the line “The bowler’s Holding, the batsman’s Willey.”
I’m laughing at my desk now typing this.
Yes! That’s the first thing I thought of… immediately followed by Albert Pujols.
I live a few blocks from the listed apartment. Even though it’s a local real estate broker, they spelled the street wrong. It’s Cumming, for god’s sake, not Cummings.
I’ve been living in this neighborhood for nearly a decade, and it’s still funny.
Been there.
There’s also South Dildo. And they’re both on Dildo Arm, and in sight of Dildo Island.
I do a Beavis and Butthead “heheheheh” in the car every time I hear NPR announce their economist, Hugh Johnson.
Just discovered a new one. The local baseball team updated their facebook status to show pictures of their mascot visiting a school I’d never heard of.
Iron Chef America Battle Frozen Pea.
I dare you not to laugh.
“Would you like a breast, leg or thigh?”
Me: “HuhHuhHuh…HuhHuhHuh…Uh…could you describe them to me?”
I know I am because I just bought my brother a fart themed fathers day card and we won’t be the only two laughing.
I make “your mother” jokes constantly.
I point out when I’m about to fart.
I giggle when my friend who works for the government tells me about the great cover terms they try to sneak in, like PENISLAND. (Next attempt will be pig-pen island.)
I still laugh when I go by the Bong Recreation Area.
I snicker every time I drive by two convenience stores in the Riverwest neighborhood of Milwaukee: S&M Mart and Midget Foods.
I know I’m very immature because this beautiful love song made me laugh… It was listed under new sexy music?
The following conversation with my boyfriend after eating way too much delicious Indian food:
Me: Uuuuugh, look at the size of my foodbaby.
Him: Someone’s going to actually ask when you’re due.
Him: And you can tell them, “In two to three hours.”
Him: “When I take a GIANT DUMP.”
Me: :Attempt to smooch him for being so awesome but can’t 'cause I’m laughing too hard.:
I’m immature because I’ve actually helped build a trebuchet. And we painted it hot pink with flowers on it and dubbed it the Barbie Dream Trebuchet. And then we flung Barbies with it. “Hey Ken, wanna join the Mile High Club? Wheee!”
I’m also immature because I when I see old documents that use f instead of s, I mentally read them in Sylvester’s voice. Fthea ftherpentfth? Fthufferin’ fthuccotafsth!
I’m immature because I want to party with both of you and your trebuchets, because I am FASCINATED by them!