Release that sexual frustration, get a burger.

After an hour on this team meeting I’m not wanting to be a team player anymore.

I yelled at my cat and the other cats yelled at me. Like wow, okay, pay my mortgage then.

All these laws are really getting in the way of my driving.

I have neither the patience nor the crayons to show you why this is a bad idea.

Dear Math, I don’t want to solve your problem, I have my own problems to solve.

I hate when my kids ask me impossible questions like: What day is it?

Withholding sex from you people isn’t working.

Driving is great because it combines my love of sitting with my love of being mad.

Every day I ask ChatGPT if it knows where my keys are and if it ever knows the answer, I’m suing everybody.

Just once I’d like to buy a house plant that didn’t have the lifespan of a soap bubble.

When I find it, I don’t need it. When I need it, I can’t find it.

I keep pressing the space bar, but I’m still on Earth.

Nothing makes me more stabby than when my husband ignores me and starts talking to the dog.

My keyboard must be broken, I keep hitting the escape key, but I’m still at work.

Life is a highway: Too many cars, not enough bathrooms.

I wish I could lose weight as easily as I lose my keys, phone, temper, and my mind.

It’s funny how when you’re at work, “Go to hell” comes out as “No problem.”

Hate when you’re trying to take a nap and the dentist is all “Please open your mouth.”

Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you, but not in the one ahead.