Quotes & Jokes by Christopher Titus / page 9
I didn’t realize I had any problems until you fucking brought it up.
Here's how hot my wife is: on our first date, she started talking about kids. Christopher Titus: And I still married her.
Christmas is a time for joy, love and peace. And frothing hot vengeance that will never cease. So no matter the volume of fussing you fuss or the wide angry streams of cussing you cuss, your fate is sealed when in mussing you muss with the nastiest of nasties, the Kenge. Well, Ken Titus.
I say we spend some money, clean up some junkies and make them all go work for the Red Cross. You ever give blood to the Red Cross? Little paper hatted trainee kid, just sticking you full of holes. "Golly, jeez, this is way harder than the deep fryer, how does this work?" You get an ex-junkie in there, bap-bap, he's gonna find a vein. You're in, you're out, you got sugar cookie and you're happy!
Socrates said, the unexamined life is not worth living. My dad said, "Booty - mmm mmm."
If you ask my dad for help... he'll help. Like a vulture helps an over-run armadillo on a Texas highway. One peck at the time.
There was a guy last week back East who shot his wife at a Domestic Violence Center. I think he misunderstood the sign.
Valentines Day is a day we celebrate real love. A love so strong that two hearts become one. Yeah, when you're happy, she's happy. And when you're angry, she's angry. And when you start wallowing in self-pity because your hotrod shop tanks and everybody's against you so you start drinking. And then she moves out and goes and lives with her parents, pfft. Or was that the day after Valentines Day? Doesn't matter. I'll go get another one just like her.
Get off your ass and do something. Spread your wings and fly. Or, make your friend fly. And, I don't mean, help your friend fly. I mean, force that chubby little non-aerodynamic bastard to freakin' fly.
I asked him one time to tell me how I was conceived. You know why? 'Cause I wanted one good story. I don't have any good stories. I have no romantic stories of my parents that don't end with this phrase: "So the cops finally cuffed the crazy bitch."
You don’t give out trophies for losing. Trophies for sucking. That’s a communist idea. You don’t get a trophy for losing. You get a piece of pizza and you shut up. Trophies for losing? What the hell happened to us?
Being extraordinary is hard. It takes work, and pain, and a good mom, and a good dad, and a good pair of shoes, and I cant do it. It's not in me. Ordinary is all I got. Cheers.
Normal people, fear the day their parents die. Screwed up people, fear that their parents are going to live forever. Showing up at your house at weird hours of the night, smelling all funny, with a bunch of their friends. "Hey boy, this is Harold, Cecil and Dicky. Dicky lost his wife about a year ago. I hear Erin made cookies. Where can I put my shoes ?" If that doesn't scare you, you're not human.
I have a dream. Martin Luther King had a dream so big that millions climbed on board. And one man changed a nation forever. Wow. How do you follow a dream that big? I guess you got to start small. You know, baby steps. I have some gum. Anybody can get gum. You feel better now, don't ya?