I don’t like it when men call me, asking me stupid questions. A young man called me last week, talking about, ‘What you got on?’ I said, ‘A big-ass t-shirt with ketchup and mustard stains.’

Nice rags. I love how they cling to what’s left of your festering carcass.

Have you ever seen a really, really old tall person? Yeah, me neither. They don’t last very long. Enjoy your basketball and your view, tall people. You’re going down.

You caught my eye from across the room. I’ll probably need that back later.

My wife had this whole gay military policy with her age: if I didn’t ask, she wouldn’t tell. And when I did ask, she would get offended. I’d be like, ‘Let me ask you something — how old are you?’ ‘Excuse me? Listen, let me tell you something — I’m …

The thing that I hate about tall people is that they just assume that the rest of us want to be tall. That’s not true. That’s just like people with hair just assume that everyone without hair wants to have hair. That is true.

No, really, I’m more interested in your brain than your body.

Yo’ Mama is so fat, her panty lines look like a road map.

You invite friends to your garage sale because you want them to come over and buy your stuff, so you can go to their house and look at your stuff one more time.

If I said you had a beautiful body, would it be okay if I ate it?