Quotable Kathleen Madigan:
“People say, ‘How do you write a joke?’ Most of the time I don’t — I just call home. And I say, ‘What are you guys doing?’ And I repeat what they’ve said to me and I make money.”
I’m sure it’s unhealthy that the only reason I want a TV in my bedroom is so I can masturbate during The Colbert Report and fall asleep immediately after without having to get up and go to bed.
Stephen Colbert is sexy as hell, don’t judge me. My vagina wants the Colbert bump.
My mom told me that she and her husband argued yesterday, but that “everything is OK today, we’re talking like it never happened.”
So a) that’s totally healthy, and b) that’s where I get it from.
I love that it’s perfectly normal for my ladies’ night conversations to progress naturally to me saying to the guy running the French bakery: “Speaking of Freud, may I please have that macaron with the goo in the middle?”
I think the reason I’m not buying Tina Fey as the Garnier haircolor spokesperson is that I like to think of Tina Fey as a magical unicorn of a woman who is so awesomely self-assured that she doesn’t give her hair that much thought. She’s too busy being smart and funny, and a hero to nerd girls everywhere.
This is absurd, because I do realize her hair doesn’t just look like that when she rolls out of bed. Nerd girls deserve fabulous hair, too. And I’m glad a gorgeous, smart, funny lady is selling me something for once, but it’s just not working for me.
I may also just have Garnier trauma after the Orange Hair Incident of ’06. You could get Jesus as your spokesperson and I wouldn’t believe Him. But since Tina Fey is basically my Jesus, I guess it’s the same idea.
I’ve often equated my need for sex to the unclogging of a drain. If it’s been too long, I get a backup of sexual tension, and I need a man to relieve that tension by penetrating it repeatedly with a force I don’t possess. And then the entire system operates more smoothly.
I thought it was kind of a gross metaphor, but damned if Liquid Plumr hasn’t read my mind.
I don’t know what it is about me and managers of grocery stores, but I’m gonna sleep with another one.
I think it’s the fact that, after sex with a grocery manager, there’s a pretty good chance there’ll be food in the house.
Don’t judge — my needs are very simple. In the words of Chris Rock: “Feed me, fuck me, shut the fuck up.”