Colfax McLiverneck

While browsing the CornNut selection at the corner store, Gretchen realized that she had left the dog on and the stove out.

Idle hands are the Devil's tools—so shuck that corn, and shuck it good. Mmmm, that's right. Shuck it REAL good, baby.

It's that time of year again—time to whip up some popcorn, wipe the cat's ass, and stack grandma and grandpa outside by the firewood.

"Polish the cob, slob on my knob, tickle my frog," said Bob on his blog.

Greenland's ice is melting. Thank the goddamn Lord, cause now we can plant that fucker with corn.

Exclusive update to Carlin's Seven Dirty Words: cornshit, pisscorn, cornfuck, cuntcorn, cornsucker, mothercorner, and tits.

Some have asked why I am obsessed with corn. And now I shall answer. "Because corn."

Now lemme get this straight...you put the corn in the coconut and chomp it all up?

I find it odd that no one has mentioned the 800-lb. can of corn behind the ficus tree.

I bet my bottom dollar AND lost my blues in Chicago. But the corn dogs were deeeee-lish!

Slightly cornfused, perhaps.

Hey, Jude...can you pass the butter, the salt, and those kitschy little knobby yellow plastic corn holders?

For English, press one. Para Espanol, presione de dos. For cornshine, hop in my jalopy, sloppy—we goin' to the hoedown!!!

I, Colfax McLiverneck, am not nor have I ever been associated with the Nebraska Corn Council. Copyright 1722, The Nebraska Corn Council.

To creep, perchance to cream, ay, that's how you rub one out at Corn Fest 2016.

This is a catchphrase told by an idiot, full of corn references, signifying nothing.

If we Nebraskans have offended, think of corn, and all is mended.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of cornmeal, I shall fear no weevils.

Women of Cornwall, I put my pants on one leg at a time—but not like you. My pants have a third leg, if you know what I mean...

Never count your cobs before they're shucked.

A little cornmeal is a dangerous thing if you mix it with kerosene and eat it like oatmeal.

Down on the corner, out in the street, killed by a garbage truck trying to send a tweet.

Why did the unicorn cross the road? To save your eternal soul, you scumbag.

I was three sheets to the wind, but only two shits away from Uncle Cornelius's world record.

When cornered, her cornea scornfully twitches, as if to say "Put down the acorns, and back away slowly."