My first rodeo and my last rodeo were the same rodeo.

Weddings should have a worst man.

“23 and Me” is how Leonardo DiCaprio RSVPs for events.

My husband cleaned the kitchen for the first time in years. He’s in the living room, dressed in a suit, waiting for the award ceremony to commence.

Can someone please help me, I’m still at the Fyre Festival.

Anytime someone throws a Great Gatsby themed party, I have to assume they never finished the book.

It’s called a “sports car” because getting out of one after 40 is a physical event.

Me, at the intervention: “Ah look, all the reasons I drink gathered in one place.”

They should combine the running of the bulls with Tour de France next year.

People who own banana costumes will wear that shit to anything.

It’s called the Summer Olympics so one of the events should be running in flip flops to catch the ice cream man.

When the Olympics finally introduces the event “Dropping your phone and very nearly catching it but not quite” then you’ll all see me shine.

This is not an empty room, this is a very successful anti-party.

Everyone is gangster until they’re asked to reveal a “fun fact” about themself as part of a work event icebreaker.

Don’t invite me places. I was cesarean. I didn’t want to come out then and I certainly don’t want to now.

People keep inviting me to stuff. I miss the pandemic.

Imagine the carnage at an IKEA team building event.

The rule should be: if you can smell the cookout, you’re invited to the cookout.

This could have been an email. Me, while attending a wedding ceremony.

I hope you catch the bouquet at my funeral.