Best of Johnny

Too many songs about shakin' your booty. Not enough songs about filing your income taxes in a timely manner!

If I'm murderered by the government, please hide my Perfect Strangers erotica fanfic.

Me: Thanks for coming in today. It says here you suffer from Imposter Syndrome? Therapist: Get out of my chair.

May the Lord bless you and keep you in a tiny jar with holes in the lid and a leaf inside.

1984, but stupid.

Them: Yeah, I'm into fitness. Fitness pizza in my mouth! Me: hahaha! I'm into fitness instructor in my trunk! Them: What? Me: What?

Her: Uh. Why do you have a spray bottle of butter on your nightstand? Me: Don't worry. Nothing weird. [opens drawer to reveal several baked potatoes]

[shuffles wheat thins like a deck of playing cards while staring you down]

Adding u's to wourds randoumly so people think I'm nout American

That Sleepytime Tea bear is plum tuckered out from viciously mauling hikers all day.

We need to wake up Captain Planet from suspended animation.

While everyone's distracted at the orgy, I go around and turn off motion smoothing on all the TVs.

Googly eyes are windows to the googly soul.

Captcha: Are you alone? Me: Uh. Yeah. Captcha: Kiss all the squares with butts in them. Me: What?! Captcha: You heard me. Me: [leans in to kiss the squares with butts in them] Captcha: hahaha OMG I can't believe you did that!

At my funeral, hook me up to an intricate pulley system so I can wave to everyone as they enter.

"I hope we can still be friends," I call out from the trunk of your car as you search for a heavy enough rock to put on the gas pedal.

A true crime podcast where two women listen to a police scanner, get drunk and show up to active crime scenes.

If everybody's kung fu fighting, no one is.

[throwing a saddle on a tortoise after a successful zoo heist] Me: So long, suckers! [gets arrested hours later four feet from where my getaway started]

Winds so strong I'll probably be killed by a Little Free Library.

Me: The only thing that makes me happy is this jet pack. [pats the jetpack accidentally turning it on, and watches it fly away]

Me, as an undercover cop: You got any doobies? Some crank? Maybe some snow? Ganja? Smack? Junk? Some toot? Did I already ask about doobies? Drug Dealer: Are you an undercover cop? Me: Yes.

FartSniper9000 is now in charge of your social security checks.