Colfax McLiverneck

Billie Jean is not my lover, but she does make one hell of a spicy cornbread casserole.

Stifler's mom's son prefers Green Giant Boobs brand corn.

And now I must discard my organic artisanal coffee because an acorn has fallen into it. Hot and splashy!

OK, here's what we know so far. El Chapo has escaped again, and is suspected to be hiding in a corn field.

Sir Slaytang's recipe for happiness: one can of corn, one box of Tang, and one recording of Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf.

Coming up next, Charlie Parker's lost recording of "Jimmy Cracked Corn".

While grooming my cornstache, an slippery epiphany crawled up my asshole.

Well that's just corntastic, Scott. How are we going to explain this to yo mamma?

The Mayans do it, the Aztecs do it, even educated Olmecs do it. Let's do it. Let's grow some maize.

Cornscore and twenty kernels ago, our forefathers brought forth into this small but comfortable apartment one serviceable futon and one used Blues Traveler CD.

Whatever, squash.

Creepalong Bob slithers into your bedroom, dragging an iguana-shaped pinata full of corn silently behind him.

Leave it to those cornfed midwestern boys to eat lots of corn and forever after have their names modified by the adjective "cornfed".

Jimmy cracked corn, and the fact that you don't care is really hurtful. (sobbing) Really, really hurtful.

It's not all unicorns and rainbows out there, kid. It's manticores and corndogs. Now get outta my face.

You can detect Sir Slaytang and his sidekick Creepalong Bob by the sound of raw corn kernels crunching in their goat-like teeth.

It was said of Sir Slaytang that he would hide in the edge of the cornfield and peer longingly into your window. Creepy, man.

Let's all go to the lobby, let's all go to the lobby, let's all go to the lobby, and drown our soul-shattering regrets in multiple pitchers of cornbeer.

An average ear of corn has eight hundo kernels; by this measure, we're only halfway there.

Nonghey, nam.

One for the money, two for the show; that'll be three dollars total, unless you'd like to add the non-complementary cornnuts. Enjoy your flight.

As a sexy food historian, I can bring home the cornpone, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget that cornpone is a primitive bread made of ground maize and water.

A corn farmer, a priest, and a hovering giraffe walked into a bar. Actually, the giraffe hovered in, but you know what I mean. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

One may be the loneliest number, but one can never be truly lonely at midnight in a cornfield clearing with one's little buddies Isaac and Malachai.

Why aren't corn sandwiches "a thing"?