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Posts posted by Colfax McLiverneck
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There once was a man from Corntucket whose cob was so long he could shuck it
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On today’s show, the inventor of Shortaloons—Cornelius Von Mustacheboobs!
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Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of stale corn meal, I shall fear no weevil.
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Chapter the Twenty-Third: In Which the Soothsayer of Cornlingshire Whoopsies Her Rider-Waites in Bungerfold Street and Has an Aural Vision of the Apocalypse in the Form of a Chortle and Two Bangs  Â
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Chapter the Twenty-Second: In Which Lord Fillian Mongreith of Underhamfordsmold is Stupefied by the Sudden Appearance of a Previously-Undescended Testicle During an Unseemly Tryst with a Plate of Bangers and MashÂ
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Chapter the Twenty-First: In Which an Obtuse Pol Learned in the Liberal Arts Becomes Enamored with Jacques Derrida and Deconstructs Parliament with a Purloined Excavator
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I got this bit straight from the horse’s mouth.
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I’m a jack of all trades, but a master of off.
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I don’t care what the song says—you will address me as Mr. Pacino. Only Mrs. White gets to call me that.
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Some people call me the Space Cowboy, but I was born Cowford Spiceman, Jr.Â
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Today’s show was generated entirely by A.I.—Albert Ingersoll that is, some rando from Wisconsin that we met at Hooters.
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I was pro-tractor until my father was crushed by a giant plastic angle-measuring device while trying to plow his cornfield with it.
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More like Elf on your mom.
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I was working in the lab late one night, when my eyes beheld nary a sight, because it’s too dark to see inside of a dog.
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Here at Comedy Bang Bang, we have an Open-Scary-Closet-Door Policy.
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Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Maximillian the Corn-Hoarding Dickbag.  Â
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Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. Stab, stab. Dismember, dismember. Create plausible alibi, create plausible alibi. Say no more, say no more.
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I came here to chew bubblegum. This is the Bubblegum Chewery, right?
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I did the mash. It was a creamy smash.
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I was working at the second smallest Great Lake late one night, when my eyes beheld an Erie sight!
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One bang! Two bangs! Ha. Ha. Ha! TWO bangs!
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Everybody knows that the early buh-bird gets the worm.
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Thus corn science does make cowards of us all, and thus the native kernels of resolution are picked over by a dark murder of crows, and lose the name Nebraskan.
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A corn nut, a sentient fart, and a spoon named Walter walk into a bar. The bartender says “What is this? Some kind of catchphrase?”
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What’s butt, hot fog?
in New Catchphrase Suggestions
Posted
What’s butt, hot fog?