Colfax McLiverneck

Give me a home where the cornelope roam, And the buffalo have 401Ks, Where seldom is a word that’s almost never used, And guacamole never turns gray

To C-flat or not to A-double-sharp. That’s the unnecessary accidental question.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of this huge motorcycle ramp, I shall fear no Knievel.

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-OH MYYY said Uncle George Takei.

I like my women like I like my corn—Nebraskan, non-GMO, and fresh from the can.

I got a fever, and the only cure is more corn-themed comedy.

I came here to eat corn and guess names, and you’re all out of corn. Wanda, is it? Artemis? Wilhelm? Umberto? Jimmy? Norman? Margaret?

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

Oh give me a home / Where the Buffalo Roam / Unless you’ve got anything above 57th with a nice view of the park and maybe a balcony or whatever

I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. Goddamnit my balls hurt.

What if there was a Metallica/Milli Vanilli tour. It could be called Metallivanilli. Oh man, that would be really funny if it was real.

Corn-On-A-Rope? ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

What the world needs now is a podcast called “Are You Metalli-Talkin to Metal Me Metalli-Too?”

“Hey, ‘Corgi in Disguise’! I know. And now you know that I know. And I know that you know that I know,” he said knowingly, puffing his corncob pipe.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If wishes were corn, beggars would have yellow-studded turds.

Wyatt Earp? Because @earp.

I’d really like to believe you, Jimmy. But the flakes of cracked corn on your sleeve tell a different story.

This brought a single tear to my eye. Bravo, sir. BRAVO.

Welcome to the show—i’m Stick Hipsterman, and I have no idea what you’re talking about because I don’t even OWN a TV.

An ear of corn a day keeps He Who Walks Behind the Rows away.

If wishes were horses, the horse-supply would become so large that horseflation would tank the horseconomy, plunging the world into a horsepression.

Sometimes you wanna go where everybody’s jokes are lame.

When I was a child, I spake as a child. But when I became a man, I still spake as a child, and it took years of spake therapy before I finally spake normally

Jimmy Carter Carver cracked peanut corn butter, and I’m really confused, but I don’t care.

I’m sure there’s a “Good Knievel” catchphrase out there somewhere, but I’ll leave that to you guys—cause I’m only in this for the corn.