I’m unsure about the guy who pours my draft beer. Apparently, he’s been behind bars.
An untalented gymnast walks into a bar.
An appeasing Prime Minister balks into a war.
A Balkan Prime Minister pees into a wall.
A Walken mime has a seizure and falls.
He’ll spring back in April.
Daylight Savings Time gave me a back injury. I need to buy a smaller sundial.
Watch out for that injury. You don’t want it to happen a second time.
Especially if you get clocked.
If you do, I hope we don’t hear about it second-hand.
Even though he screamed “Hourch!”, it was a minute injury.
That’ll teach him to buy one of those sundials that are on sale with gnomon-y down.
Happy hour prices can be good bargains.
That’s right, within a shadow of a doubt.
I don’t trust shadows, they seem pretty shady.
But then how will you ever find out what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
That’s our perpetual Lamont.
When life gives you Lamonts, make lemonade.
(Not much to do with the Lamonts, of course, but just in case you got thirsty.)
That was a rather seedy thing to say.
I like lemons a bunch.
You have to admit that they have appeal.