Colfax McLiverneck

I’d like to confess something. Let me start by introducing myself. Hello. I’m Curiosity J. Catmurderson.

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

Ensign Cornwall...replace that I with an S, and the T with an O. Make it so.

Clifton Cockrell corned a can of Cornish cow; a can of Cornish cow Clifton Cockrell corned. If Clifton Cockrell corned a can of Cornish cow, where’s the can of Cornish cow Clifton Cockrell corned?

What’s up, Jimmy? Still cracking corn, I see. You do realize that no one cares, right?

To whoever lobbed this can of corn into my cubicle and broke my collarbone: I love you and hate you at the same time.

If you say “noice” one more time I’m going to smile uncomfortably and then imagine you being killed by a falling piano.

Baa, Baa, black sheep, have you any yummy corn? Why yes I do, handsome sire—three scrotes full and shorn.

There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but there’s only one way to cook a cat, and that’s my abuela’s Sopa del Gato con Maiz.

I tried to pick myself up by my own boot straps but I was wearing Chuck Taylors so all I did was untie my shoes. Fuck you, Horatio Alger.

There can only be one Jedi. Didn’t you guys see Star Wars II: The Quickening?

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

The Last Jedi is a terrible name for an ice cream snack. Connie, can you set up a new meeting with marketing for 3:00 today?

Man cannot live by corn alone. Believe me, I’ve tried. On the upside, it makes your turds look hilarious.

“Daddy, what’s a Jamaican Bobsled?” asked little Scotty. “Go ask your Uncle Hot Charlie,” his father answered knowingly.

The Last Jedi? More like the Last Jed, Aye?: The Beverly Seabillies and the Curse of the Black Gold

What’s up, tubular cured emulsion of mechanically separated chicken, pork, water, corn syrup, and sodium nitrate?

Just one in a long line of country music stars with two first names, Toby Keith slowly faded away as his bass boat sailed for the Grey Havens.

We’ll doggone—I ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays, my beloved canine pet that ran away approximately 30 weeks ago.

“You can’t always get what you want, unless what you want is corn, in which case you can literally get it at any restaurant in America.” Copyright 2017, The Corn Enthusiast Society of Cornwall, Nebraska

As Albert Einstein once said: “Elsa? Where the hell are my pants!”

I’ll have the corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn corn and a wafer-thin slice of cornbread.

A brace of coneys. A cob of corn. A pile of anchovies. And a yo of mammas. This is going to be a fine meal indeed.

I’m so metal, I’m like Bender’s mom’s only son’s niece’s only uncle.

I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. I’m wanted by the Bakersfield Super Walmart for shoplifting Star Wars LEGOs.