February 19, 2017

Nine-Year-Old: I know where I’m going to have my bar mitzvah.
Me: Where?
Nine-Year-Old: At a bar, filled with bars.
Me: Makes sense.
Nine-Year-Old: Or a prison.


February 18, 2017

Me: Oh, crap and a half?
Five-Year-Old: Where’d you learn to say that?


February 15, 2017

Thirteen-Years-Old: Don’t try to be punny.
Me: What?
Thirteen-Years-Old: Don’t try to be punny. I am the queen of the punnies.

Son Of

February 13, 2017

Wife: The son of the fuck is this?


January 29, 2017

Wife: Who wants moist transients?


January 15, 2017

Me: I think I should start referring to bacon fat as “fused pig.”


January 10, 2017

Twelve-Year-Old: “Feels” are fangirl emotions.


January 8, 2017

Graduate Student: This was, I hope, exactly the same thing I wrote down, more or less


January 6, 2017

Wife: Ah, there… it’s kicking in.
Me: Oh, good.
Wife: No, there’s a middle ground between competent and drunk—“competrunk.”
Me: “Competrunk”?
Wife: I think I’m on the wrong side of competrunk.


January 1, 2017

Twelve-Year-Old: After the music, there was a little presentation of—
Nine-Year-Old: Midgets!