Mark: You’d date Nate, wouldn’t you?
Misty: I don’t date blonds.
Me: Look, tell me I’m not in good enough shape, tell me you hate my smile, hell, tell me I have the personality of a Yak on LSD, but don’t tell me you hate blonds. Everyone loves blonds.
Misty: I’m serious. I can’t date blond guys. I like guys who look tough and there’s nothing tough about blond. I mean, have you ever seen a blond thug?
Me: Well, there’s no like, Nordic mob or anything.
Misty: It’s no big deal. I’m sure you do well with those girls that like the whole ‘cute guy’ thing.
Me: Do you wanna arm wrestle? I will so kick your ass.

Me: If you could be any color eye, what color would you be?
Brian: I honestly think you’re insane.

Bill: Hey, Man. Explain to me again about that guy, you know he wrote all those books?
Me: You called me at 3 AM to ask me about a guy who wrote books?
Bill: Yeah. That one book by that guy that you gave me and I never finished it because the dog ate it…
Me: That was ‘Deadeye Dick’ by Kurt Vonnegutt.
Bill: Yeah. I really want to finish it. Where can I get a copy?
Me: I don’t know. Probably in just about any bookstore or library in the free world. It’s 3 AM.
Bill: You’re up.
Me: That’s not the point. This is one of those reasonable-hour conversations. I don’t want to talk about Vonnegutt at 3 AM on a weekday.
Bill: You’re not being very open minded.
Me: You’re being hung up on.

Me: If you could be any multimillion dollar conglomerate, what would you be?
Brian: Any one that doesn’t hire you.

Blake: Do you honestly believe that there’s a soul mate for everyone?
Me: I believe that a lot of people believe that.
Blake: That’s a very nihilistic approach.
Me: It’s not an approach. It’s an opinion. And it’s not nihilistic. It’s cynical.
Blake: You’re a real jerk sometimes, you know that?

Me: If you could be any kind of candy, what would you be?
Brian: Chocolate covered Shut-the-Fuck-up-Nathan.

Emily: I don’t think Katie Holmes is that hot.
Troy: Me either.
Emily: You’re so sweet. You’re agreeing with me because it makes me feel good.
Troy: That and I really don’t care.

Me: If you could be any body of water, which would you be? Brian…?
Brian: If I close my eyes and find my happy place, I’ll bet he goes away.

Royce: You should write a column about Swedish meatballs and American steel.
Me: Huh?
Royce: You know? Volvos and Harleys.
Me: What would I write about that?
Royce: Look, you’re the writer. I just come up with the ideas. It’s up to you to make them work.

Me: If you could be any weapon, which would you be?
Brian: The gun that eventually kills you sounds like a weapon with a worthwhile place in life.

Charity: I don’t think I could date a guy who worked a regular nine to five job. I just don’t fall for those kind of men.
Me: Yeah, guys with health insurance are lame.

Me: If you could be any moment in history, which would you be?
Brian: Seriously dude. You have to stop this.

Brian: Dude, are you wearing pajamas?
Me: Yeah.
Brian: Why the hell would you wear pajamas out to a bar?
Me: I don’t know. I’m comfortable.
Brian: Hey barkeep, get my friend a Strongbow. Oh, and a shot of whiskey for his teddy bear.
Me: Funny.

Me: If you could be any—
Brian: Shut up Nathan.
Me: Kind of cereal—
Brian: No, Nathan.
Me: What would you be?
Brian: Leave me alone.

Mike: Nice pajamas. Where’d you get ‘em?
Me: You know I’m not sure.
Mike: They have pockets and everything?
Me: Oh yeah. They’re like sheer cotton pants.
Mike: I’d wear mine out of the house. You know, if they had pockets.
Me: Pockets are important.
Mike: I wish I knew where you got those. Can I see the tag?
Me: This is getting a little gay.

Me: If you could be any piece of sports equipment—
Brian: Seriously dude, I have work to do.

Me: What’s that stuff they use to make rum?
Tony: Liquor.

Me: If you could be any supermodel’s bathing suit, whose would you be?
Brian: Now that’s worth exploring… literally.

Tony: So they call that John Rodriguez guy J-Rod?
Me: Yeah, I think that sucks. I’m so tired of the whole A-Rod, J-Lo nickname gimmick. We need a better one for this kid.
Emmy: How about Jizzy?
Tony: And Jizzy slowly comes to the plate.
Me: Jizzy sprays balls all over the infield.
Dave: Jizzy with the money shot to left field.
Me: Oh yeah. That’s a keeper. Jizzy it is.
Emmy: I’m pretty funny, huh?
Me: Oh yeah, you’re more than just a pretty face.
Michael: Nice ass.
Dave: And big tits.
Me: Don’t forget the legs.
Tony: Yeah, the best meat’s in the legs.

Me: If you could live anywhere on planet earth, where would you live?
Brian: Are you still talking?

Tony: If I were president, I’d blow up half of America.
Me: Which half?
Tony: The half that watches American Idol.
Me: Again, you got my vote.

Me: If you could be any kind of motorcycle, what would you be?
Brian: Why do I have to work with you?

Me: Dave, you’re always in a bad mood. I’ll bet you’re the only guy on the planet who would bitch while getting head.
Dave: You damn right I would, if she wasn’t doing it right. Nothing pisses me off more than a bad hummer.
Me: I thought nothing pissed you off more than sue-happy people.
Devin: I though it was the Detroit Piston’s management.
Tony: I’m pretty sure it had something to do with cops or lady drivers or something.
Dave: It’s about to be you three guys.

Me: If you could be any politician, living or dead—
Brian: I’d be any dead one, so I’d know I’d have zero chance of getting stuck in the same room as you, Freak.

Tom: How come you always watch the games in bars? Wouldn’t it make more sense to watch them at home so you can hear the announcers?
Me: You don’t watch much baseball do you?
Tom: No.
Me: Yeah, well the announcers suck.

Me: If you could be any kind of mustache wax—
Brian: I will hit you. I don’t care if we’re at work. I’m not above it, Nathan.

Tom: You suck at life.
Me: Why don’t you go out into the street and play hide and go fuck yourself?
Tom: That was good. Cheers.

Me: If you could be any kind of peanut butter what would you be?
Brian: Shut up.

Tim: That dude stinks so bad, when he lights up a cigarette, it actually improves the smell of the room.
Me: That’s bad.
Tim: I mean, what would you even call that smell? It’s like moldy cheese meets sweaty balls with a pinch of garlic breath.
Me: Kind of a dirty locker room smell?
Tim: Kind of. But you gotta add just a dash of breath funk.
Me: So it’s like a dirty British locker room smell?
Tim: That’s it. Like, right after a rugby game.
Me: All right, so we’ll call his smell Dirty British Post-Rugby Locker Room Funk.
Tim: That’s too long a name. We’ll call it Rugby Balls for short.
Me: Yeah, good work. Rugby Balls. I like that one. All in favor?
Tim: Aye.
Me: Motion carries.
Jim: Well, now that y’all got that done, why not move on to a Middle Eastern peace treaty?
Me: No way. Game’s back on.

Me: If you could be any kind of bird, which would you be?
Brian: Whichever kind craps on your car.

Brian: Dude, you should write more about sports.
Me: Why?
Brian: Because I like sports.
Me: I’ll get right on that.

Me: If you could be any kind of illicit drug, what would you be?
Brian: Seriously dude, are questions like that even worth the oxygen?

Joe: Better watch out what you say around him. He could write down every word you say and put it on the web, which is world wide, in case you jokers didn’t know.
Steve: Nate loves the ballet.
Tim: Nate loves sucking dick.
Jim: I’m in love with Stephanie [last name omitted].
Me: Dude, just call her.
Jim: What if I paid you to write that?
Me: Grow a spine and dial her digits.
Jim: Nate smokes crack.
Tim: Dirty butt crack.
Joe: And he loves it.

Me: If you could be any kind of musical instrument, what would you be?
Brian: One more of these, and I’m filing a grievance with the union.

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