The Water Cooler Incident

I went to the water cooler to get water.
When I got back,
the hot, 20-year-old intern looked at me and smiled.
I felt like a pimp.

When I sat down,
I saw I’d spilt a bunch of water on my pants.
It looked like I peed myself.

St. Patrick’s Day

I love St. Patrick’s Day.
It’s the only day I can drink
with my Leprechaun,
Blarney McShackleton,
without being asked a ton of questions.

Fuck Your Selfie Stick

Fuck your selfie stick.
Suck my selfie stick.
Fuck your selfie stick.

The Donald (Part 2)

Donald Trump laid quietly on the sofa.
“Sasquatch,” he said unprovoked.
“I know him. Good guy.”

I knew this was a lie.
I met Bigfoot years ago.
And he’d never hang out with Donald.

“You know I have a time machine,” he said.
This was a lie, too.
There’s only one time machine on earth,
And I have it.

One more minute went by.

Finally, he blurted out:
“I have sexual fantasies about my daughter!”

Finally, the truth.

“Our time’s up,” I said.
“This was a big breakthrough though.
I’ll see you next week.”

Donald Trump is my most deranged patient.

Pigskins and Ponies

We were on our way to the My Little Pony convention.
I was dressed as Twilight Sparkle
And Jesus was dressed as Rarity.
I wanted to be Rarity but Jesus won the coin toss.

We bumped into some drunk guys.
They were dressed up, too.
“What pony are you?” I asked.

“I’m not a pony fag,” the guy said.
“We’re going to the Broncos game.”

“But you ARE dressed up like a horse,”
Jesus pointed out.

“Yeah but not a gay horse,” he said.

Jesus and I were confused.
Then a guy with a painted face chimed in.

“You guys need to grow up,” he said.
Then he burped some beer onto his football jersey.

Jesus wanted to fight them, but I talked him out of it.
“Let it go Jesus,” I said.
“Ponies don’t settle disagreements with violence.”

“You gentlemen enjoy your game,” I said.

Jesus and I spent the rest of the day taking ecstasy
And dancing at a pony rave.

It was awesome.

Bronies:

NFL Fans:

The Hitler Question

When I finally finished my time machine,
I knew what I had to do.

I got in and went back to 1907
and I found Adolf Hitler.

He was still a teenager
and his mother had just died of breast cancer.

I knew he’d be vulnerable.

“Hey Hitler!” I said.

Hitler looked startled and scared.

“I just wanted to tell you I really like your paintings,” I said.
“I want to buy one.”

I paid Hitler for his watercolours.
We joked around a little bit.
Then I hugged him
and got back in my time machine.
As I stepped in, I looked back.

I said:

“Your future is a blank canvas, Adolf.
Don’t spoil it by painting something ugly. ”

When I got back to the present,
I stumbled into an art shop in Munich.

There was an old man behind the counter.
He recognized me.
I smiled and nodded.
He smiled, too.

His paintings were bad,
but they could have been worse.