Hello My Name Is Greg

A few years ago, my friends Kelly and Tobe got married.  I decided to write them a poem, but I didn’t want it to be about the usual “marriage stuff.”  So this is what I gave them, on parchment in a beautiful wooden frame:

I had sex with Mahatma Gandhi
It was years ago on a business trip to India.
He was in the midst of a hunger strike
But he wasn’t on a sex strike — that’s for sure.

I met him in a hotel lobby
About 8AM, I was just checking in.
Someone behind me said “Nice suit, buddy.”
He was really thin — with barefoot, calloused feet.

He took my bags and climbed the stairs
I thought he was the bellhop, boy was I wrong.
He shook his head when I tried to tip him
“No money or possessions” — like my main man Christ.

He took my hand and led me inside
He said the liberation of his country was at stake.
He ripped my shirt as he pulled me to him
Such a peaceful guy — but he sure liked it rough.

A half hour later the dream was over
We lay on the floor and drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke, no sign of “Skinny”
Just a simple note — “God be with you, you were great.”

I called room service and ordered breakfast
Too bad he couldn’t stay for some steak and eggs.
When I look back, I can’t help but smile
At that morning I had my ass reamed by Mahatma Gandhi.

I shot a Verizon commercial with Mr. Can You Hear Me Now.  It took place on a campsite, and they glued actual dead mosquitos to our faces.  My life is awesome.

A man goes to get a vasectomy. He shows up to the doctor’s office wearing a suit. The doctor asks him, “Why are you wearing a suit?” The man replies, “I just got back from a funeral.”

Wow! What a difference!!!

A termite goes into a bar and says “Is the bar tender here?”
The bartender replies, “Yes, I am the bartender.”
The termite says, “No, I was joking, I said is the bar… tender, like is it tender enough to eat?”
“Oh, I see,” said the bartender, “that’s hilarious.  Kind of a double meaning thing.”

Read More →

mentalflossr:

The Procrastinators’ Club of America newsletter is called “Last Month’s Newsletter.”

Also, Tracy Morgan is gay.

A man walks into an antique store, and starts looking around.  All of a sudden he spies a beautiful brass rat in the corner.  He falls in love with it, and so he takes it to the cashier.

“The rat, eh?” says the old grizzly cashier.

Read More →

January 5, 1978, in a hospital.

Doctor: Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. It’s a girl!
Mrs. Jones: What?
Mr. Jones: You had a baby.
Mrs. Jones: Oh.

Read More →

That was a lie.