Beta Club

Me [reading sign]: “Peace night?” What’s that? “Beta club induction”?
Wife: It’s better than “Siamese fighting fish club induction.”
Me: Huh?
Wife: A “beta” is a type of fish.
Me: I was more kind of thinking on the kind of induction where Kalibak comes and smashes—because Kalibak’s weapon was the beta club.
Wife: I know that. I may not like your comic books, but at least I am knowledgeable about them.

Ragnarok

Me: Lilly, how come when I come to pick you up relatively early, like around 3:30, there are always a bunch of cars lined up over there with the parents still in them? What are they waiting for?
Wife: Ragnarok.

Physics Eye

Me: I need to find a place to set up your fountain
Wife: My fount—? Oh, that.
Me: It would really brighten up your office.
Wife: What is this, Queer Eye for the Straight—no, Physics Eye for the Engineer Guy?
I’m quitting this metaphor. It’s not working.

Trunk

Wife: Hey, it’s that graduate student!
Me: Which graduate student?
Wife: He’s in my class. I should have offered him a ride, except all we’ve got is car seats.
Me: He could sit in my lap. Or he could ride in the trunk.
Wife: I’m not sure which of those is worse.

“Submarine joke”

Me: So, can they put this whole building on, like, silent running?
Wife: Maybe I should just start cueing you. I could have a bunch of cards in my bag, and I’d hold up one that says “submarine joke” every time we walk past that.

Lyrics

Me [singing]: Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored!
He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword!
His truth is marching on!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on!

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps!
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps!
I can read his righteous sentence in the dim and flaring lamps!
His day is marching on!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on!

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel!
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal.”—
Wife: Aren’t there any cleaned up lyrics to that?
Me: Cleaned up lyrics, to the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”? Those are the cleaned up lyrics.

[singing] John Brown’s body lies a molderin’ in the grave.
John Brown’s body lies a molderin’ in the grave.
John Brown’s body lies a molderin’ in the grave.

Stinkers

[After she identified the moral of “The Unknown Citizen“]
Me: You are very discerning.
Five-Year-Old: Socks! Stinky socks, stinky socks! Stinkers!

Acorns

Me: I’ve decided I’ve changed my mind about something.
…
You aren’t interested in what I’ve changed my mind about?
Wife: OK, I’m peeling acorns!

Cookie Cutter

Wife: You have to remember that Daddy is the kind of person who believes that setting his face on fire is the solution to a bad hair cut.
Five-Year-Old: OK.
Wife: He really, really needs your help with the cookie cutter.

Singed

Me: This is going to sound stupid, but—
Wife: OK.
Me: Would my eyebrow look better if I singed it a little?
Wife: Yes.
…
However, you should know, I’m only saying that to see if you actually do it.