“Don’t shoot your gun at the hurricane” the government says. I’ll do my own research, thanks.

That pile of clothes on my bed, seems to have strange powers and gets higher on its own.

Please don’t leave me to my own devices. They’re all out of batteries.

Dear Santa, I’ve been good all year. Most of the time. Once in a while. Never mind, I’ll buy my own stuff.

I get so crabby when strangers waste my time which is unfair to them because I waste almost all of my own time to begin with.

Watched a movie on Netflix last night that was so bad, I walked out of my own house.

A camel walks into a bar and the bartender says, “Hey, you can’t bring your own drinks in here!”

At the end of my appointment, the doctor took her own blood pressure.

Being a serial killer is much like being a comedian, in that you either hit it big and get your own Netflix special, or you spend eternity popping up on shitty podcasts.

This is about the time of year where my enthusiasm about shoveling snow turns into “it will probably melt on it’s own”.

Narcissus fell in love with his own image, but was immediately annoyed at how it always tried to talk while he was talking.

I’m not ready to adopt a highway, I can barely raise my own driveway.

It turns out when someone asks who your favorite child is, you’re supposed to choose from your own. I know that now.

Digging my own grave, because I gotta do everything around here.

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

Bought an eggplant, imma grow my own eggs.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. But I’m my own worst enemy, so I guess I’m also my best friend.

I just tried to groom my dog myself, and I now fully understand why the dog groomer charges more for a haircut than my own stylist.

Now that food has replaced sex in my life, I can’t even get into my own pants.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could donate your own body fat to those who need it more urgently?