Colfax McLiverneck

Oh how the tables have turned on their bearing-equipped axes due to infinitesimal surface density variances and rotational forces imparted by gravitational inertia.

I’d rather have an Uncle Hieronymus than a hairy unclonymus.

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

Let us give thanks for this corn, and for that one episode of Star Trek with the Gorn, because that was awesome.

I really miss Mean Joe Green Jeans and his corny end-zone kangaroo dances.

You. Me. A box of frozen corn dogs. And a jar of warm mustard. ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be squished.

Drop your cob and wipe your slob, grab your lox and shine your crocs—it’s time for the show, you foxy warlock!

It was a dark and corny night...

To your left, you’ll see the barn where Jimmy first cracked corn. What’s that? Yeah, me neither. Moving along...

Old Donald had a farm. E I E I.

In the land of the cornless, the one-eared man is king.

My aunt opened a corn labyrinth that’s only open one month in the spring. She’s calling it Aunt May’s May Maize Maze.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane! No, it’s just a bird. But it is carrying an ear of corn, and that’s certainly notable.

Tusk would have been so much better had it starred Jay Davidson and had he been modified into a giant cob of corn which was a ghost THE WHOLE TIME

A kernel of corn walks into a bar. The bartender says “Maize I help you?”

Captain’s log: having narrowly escaped the Black Hole of Cornshart Nine, we’ve set course for the TP Nebula.

Roses are red, corn is yellow, I went to third base and found out she’s a fella

A catchphrase without corn is like a day without sunshine without corn.

Annie pass the corn please / Pass the corn please / Pass the corn please Annie

I do movie reviews on Facebook, and here's mine for "Bird Box": I saw Bird Box on Netflix, and it is a certified pile of fetid, steaming excrement. Here’s the plot: ghost aliens make people suicidal but only if you look at them. And in fact, this movie almost made me suicidal because I watched it. 98% of the movie consists of Sandra Bullock yelling at kids under a blanket in a boat. The other 2% is John Malkovich acting in a way that says “I will vomit myself to sleep tonight for agreeing to do this piece of garbage, but I’m buying a new house in Andorra with the paycheck, so screw you idiots.” The surprise ending of this gangrenous carbuncle of film shame is ludicrously predictable, and though it aspires to the majesty of The Sixth Sense, it merely grasps for mediocrity and fails whimperingly. The only movie it’s even comparable to is the interesting 2000 film “Pitch Black”—yeah, it’s just like that, but terrible in every way. This globby smear of reprehensible worthlessness is perfect for never watching ever. Please pass this up. Or watch it and get ready for its inevitable appearance on the “How Did This Get Made” podcast.

More like Elf on your mom.

You can lead a sleeping dog to water, but inside of a gift horse it’s too dark to read.

Let’s get the stank on the hang-down and rubber-leg it to the corner store—Mamma needs her skinny cigs, Mister Sister.

Hey Mr. Nongman, tickle me banana! Podcast end and me wanna do plugs.

When the moon hits your eye like an intangible asset incrementally devalued over a defined time period, that’s amore-tization.