Million Dollar Idea for Rabbit Breeders

This one will make you a mint if you’re a rabbit breeder. If you aren’t a rabbit breeder, just bear with me on this, because maybe you know someone who breeds rabbits, and you can pass this idea along and then you and he can maybe split the money, and one of you could buy me a pinball machine or a dirt bike for my birthday or something because you made so much money from my idea, and you couldn’t think of another way to thank me for being such an amazing genius who gave you this amazing hook-up.

Okay, here it is:

All you have to do is create a new breed of rabbit. It doesn’t matter what kind of rabbit it is (unless it does, in which case you’ll have to work that out for yourself, because you’re the one who’s supposed to be this amazing rabbit expert or whatever). Step Two: go to the rabbit naming board and have this new kind of rabbit’s name registered as the “Dermatologist.” Then sell them to the cosmetics industry so they can test all their make-up and shampoo and stuff on them. The side of the package would have to say (by law): “Dermatologist tested.” Nobody would ever know that by "dermatologist" it really meant rabbits! They’d think it was Dermatologist like the skin doctor, not Dermatologist like the newly created breed of rabbit that you invented solely for animal testing and gave a seemingly cryptic name as a smokescreen for your diabolical animal-testing plot. This way no environmentalists or animal rights groups or anything would get mad at you, not even that vegan girlfriend you had most of spring quarter of your freshman year who wore those hemp shoes and was like way too into Ayn Rand (and pronounced it “aign”) and never forgave you for saying, “I’m pretty sure Altoids never had a face.”

You’re welcome, rabbit breeders.

Things My 2-Year-Old Son Would Say If He Actually Lived Up to The Impossibly High Expectations I Have for Him.

“Of course I went poo-poo in the potty, although I don’t know why you insist on using such crass and infantile terminology.”

“So I was hitting the dog with a piece of plastic racecar track, and all of a sudden it occurred to me. I thought, ‘What am I doing? This is crazy. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I wanted my life to turn out.’”

“I see kids eating these sugar-, fat-, and salt-laden Happy Meals and I just feel sorry for them. There's nothing 'happy' about juvenile diabetes.”

“It’s bad enough that Thomas the Tank Engine shamelessly panders to parents with these paper-thin “moral lessons” (makes tiny air-quotes with his fingers) that most kids miss entirely, but it’s blatantly apparent, even to a toddler, that Thomas is little more than a pimp on rails, whoring out his image (if you’ll excuse my mixed metaphor) and his brand recognition in the service of foisting more Thomas-emblazoned merchandise on an unsuspecting preschool audience. Nice try, Thomas, but this is one ‘target customer’ who refuses to suckle at the corporate teat.”

“I suppose I don’t have to spend all my NEA grant money on crayons and paper. Here you go, Dad. Get yourself something nice.”

“Actually, I think your keys fell behind the sofa. Here, I’ll levitate it into the air with my mind.”

Dirty Haiku Hastily Rewritten To Make Them About Friendship

Inside the soft warmth
Penetrating down the depths
My friendship is huge

Piercing, then panting
Then the ultimate release
A good friend feels great

Two friends are talking
Making plans and promises
One always comes first

A good friend never
Slams you behind your back, he
Gives it to you straight

Women crave friendship
The strong man gives it to her
Puts his trust in her