A chicken crossed the road and met James Bond. “What’s your name,” the chicken asked.
“Bond, James Bond,” he answered. “What’s yours?”
“Ken, Chick Ken.”

Judging by the look of my hair this morning, I may be a muppet.

To me, essential oils are what drips out of tacos.

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If you don’t watch carefully, you might not be the first to pounce on whatever she drops.