Colfax McLiverneck

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Well, it was inevitable. Jimmy finally cracked. Too much corn, apparently.

Theoretically, the gravel decanter was melted by Melvin. Melvin-melted, if you will. But if we math now, preparing a corn sandwich for a louder turtle anticipates Labor Day. An unwise gamble, but purple.

Funniest. Ep. EVAR

If Seinfeld was a show about nothing, is this a podcast about Seinfeld?

If you stare long enough into the can of corn, the can of corn stares back at you. Keep it real, square root of negative one.

If you stare long enough into the can of corn, the can of corn stares back into you.

We regret to inform you.

Welcome to the show that is the show where we talk to people that are interesting. I’m your host, Scerd Auckley.

Ain’t no party like a non-existent party cause a non-existent party doesn’t exist.

I went to the woods because I wished to poop deliberately, and not, when I die, remember that I shat my pants at the company picnic.

I've had enough of this crap! Can we get our check, and a crap-bag to go?

I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, but I am a back-alley colonoscopy provider after all.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but that dictionary you just threw at my head almost caused me to perish!

Seashells she sells down by the seashore, but find our own seashells we will, because foolishly located her business is.

In local news, Mayor Cornfeld was caught raiding the discretionary fund that was to be used to repair the spillway mechanism on Townlake Dam. That’s right—it’s Watergategate.

I find it odd that no one has mentioned the 800-lb. can of corn in the room.

The Captain’s log. Fascinating. Just as I imagined it, but longer, and with more corn.

Don’t assume anything. Because “assume” is a word that begins with the word “ass”, which is what you are.

Two roads diverged in a yellow field, and I took the left one because I google-earthed the corn maze in advance.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of weevils is for good corn farmers to do nothing.

Colfax’s Paradox: If you go back in time and prevent corn from being domesticated by ancient Mesoamericans, this catchphrase doesn’t exist.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the messenger of the omen of the inevitability of the harbinger of death, I shall fear no redundant run-on prepositional phrase.

Once if by land, twice if by sea, three times if by a lady.

Open the door, clean up the floor—SOMEBODY didn’t walk the dinosaur