I have a portable handheld Shop Vac I use. Take the back apart, remove the screens, and use the upholstery brush attachment.

I am abnormally obsessed with having plants in my bathroom. It feels zen and cultured and spa-like. They do not seem to like the raging humidity or the cats chewing on them, thus I constantly have a few squishy tooth-marked horticultural horror shows going on at any given time.

Yeah, that’s nonsense. My hair grows slowly enough that trims every 8 weeks would have me bald in under three years.

In my household, “Do I look okay?” is standard shorthand for “How much pet hair is on my clothing, on a scale from ‘quirky animal lover’ to ‘crazy Simpsons character’?”

A car that has horses, rather than hampsters, under the hood. I was raised by a die-hard speed demon who thought he could prevent the same tendencies in his daughter by buying her a rattletrap Dodge sedan. On the blink-and-you’ll-miss-them entrance ramps to PA highways, this left me cowering on the shoulder as…

I had a group of regulars who did this every weekend, and also sent things back and changed their orders constantly. It was obviously intended to confuse me and try to get stuff free. The joke was on them, because I started documenting their visits like a court stenographer.

I had to do almost the same thing, but it was exchange students with foreign credit cards before the U.S. was using security chips. My manager actually went in the back and cried.

Nothing. Everything is shit now. I can’t even enjoy Jell-O when I’m sick without thinking of Cosby.

When you said “tiger” I assume you meant “incontinent ocelot”.

I see they’re sticking with the “startled fish” front end. Between that and the endless body bloating, it’s like a Big Mouth Billy Bass edition MINI.

Second car, blinker comes on after car is upside down. Must be a BMW.

Is this type of car camouflage actually accomplishing something, like making it difficult to take good photos? Or do car designers think their product is exclusively tested in an Escher museum?

Life would be entertaining if we really thought the way that sort of book expects us to. The day I mentally refer to my own eyes as “glistening orbs” is the day I punch myself in the face.

I never knew I desperately needed this until right now.

Young Sheldon.

Most of them are old white men, of course they need the blue pill.

I have been complaining for YEARS about how sizing up in sweaters doesn’t help with layering, because the sleeves stay arm-sucking tight. I buy tissue-thin long sleeved shirts for layering, and I still end up almost unable to bend my elbows because the damned sweater sleeves have absolutely no room to spare.

There’s a point where you really can’t add more layers and still accomplish your job. Typing in fingerless gloves is really damned hard, and unproductive.

Was just about to mention my MINI...

Oh, they’re rebooting the other Big Bang prequel?