Category: Quips

If I owned a pawnshop, I’d rebrand it as a “consignment boutique” and encourage my employees to wear swanky designer pantsuits.

Of course nice guys finish last. In bed.

Bigots don’t deserve the compliment of rational opposition.

Madness is the dowry Great Thinkers pay for their creativity.

For a country that imposes its leadership and beliefs around the globe, it makes sense that the national sport involves using the brute force of one’s swollen body to steal something from another team. And of course the favorite sport of a sexy (albeit politically corrupt) nation involves dancing rapidly through the opposition’s defense and faking injuries at the slightest provocation.

You can’t chase your dreams if you’re too busy evading your demons.

Guys claim to be knowledgeable about almost everything, but show them a bobby pin or a tube of mascara and suddenly they become imbeciles, rendered inept by an imagined assault on their masculinity.

I wonder if Justice Department officials, after a long day of berating Lance Armstrong for his use of performance-enhancing drugs, rolled down to a local happy hour to grease the wheels for their own negotiations.

In the same way that rival sports teams make effigies of their opposition and destroy them to the delight of fans, do you think Microsoft, Facebook and Google sit around eating apple pie and drinking apple cider. Maybe they take target practice with fresh apples or peel them and put them on stakes around the office.

In the 1960s, there were people who considered the Beatles to be the Rebecca Black of their day, that “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was as equally poppy and distasteful as “Friday.” You know there was some dude watching the Ed Sullivan Show grumbling, “‘Money can’t buy me love?’ Oh yeah, that’s real fresh.”