MondoMudbutt

It’s my personal wurst. Please insert it first. The furor’s fur shirt usurped Fred Durst.

I got my crabs at Dirty Dick’s. Apparently, Richard chose not to ever wash his genitals since he turned 4. He is now 67 years old.

If there’s one thing I don’t know, I usually just Googleburger it or ask a more intelligent friend or relative, but it would have to be a friend because I murdered my entire family.

When I become a stripper, I’m going to make sure I never pop out of a cake; but rather, I’ll pop out of a cold jar of pickles to really get the crowd swellin’.

Turkey covered the mother lover and the brother who was covered in butter as he muttered clutter fluffer nutter: Happy Thanksgiving ghoul family!

I’m ready to go deeper than any man has ever gone into a pile of bristled beef lard and bubble butt bacon barnacle barf.

He put his last quarter into the candy slot machine, pulled the lever, and prayed to the man above. He didn’t win—in fact, he lost not only the game but his entire family in a salmonella outbreak.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too, unless you buy the cake, live alone, and have a desire to up your caloric intake tenfold.

I just dropped my kids off at the stool pool and wiped my butt clean of their existence.

There’s nothing quite like visiting the city of lights—The Big Apple—and stepping into a nice pile of human shit with the smell of dollar slices and week old trash destroying your nostrils.

I’d like to take this time to say I did it—I ate the raw balloon tuna while watching 3:10 to Yuma.

The rubbery ring the man received from the nice woman in the red light district was stuck on him for decades, until he passed it on to his beloved son.

There’s no easy way to tell you that your hamster jumped under my car tire as I was backing out and has been plastered to it for a week, but it did.

Twerk burps and purple derp scurp joints flooded the arena for the Wiggles farewell concert with the Teletubbies.

This just in, Garfield beats Joey Chestnut in Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating contest by 679 hot dogs and 4 buns, which ultimately led to his untimely demise.

Being a plant manager has got to be difficult when the plants can’t respond to your commands, unless you speak plant, like Robert, so get Led Zeppelin on the phone.

When life give you lemons, and you eat a lot of them, of course, you’re liable to turn into a lemon head, which is a darn good candy.

Bad news travels fast, but not as fast as the burrito passed through my grandpa’s digestive system.

Curiosity didn’t kill the cat—she got run over by a lawnmower.

The time to strike was upon us. The fortress stood weaker than rice. I poked the fur of the burger liqueur and fed the pink penis some lice.

Give me liberty, and deliver me the liver please.

I can smell your bellybutton. You ate Spaghettios earlier, didn’t you?

My grandmother’s deliciously delectable dingleberry dumplings drive me absolutely wild.

Looks like you’re stuck between a rock-hard nipple and a hard face, if you know the catch my drift.

Guy Fieri is a true American Hero, according to Shel Silverstein’s new book, “Guy Fieri: A True American Hero.”