Our modern word candidate comes from the Latin word candidatus, which means white-robed.
Back in Roman times, office-seekers covered their robes in white chalk to stand out in a crowd.
It’s certainly easier than filling out hundreds of forms and gathering up thousands and thousands of signatures on petitions.
We should return to the old style of politics. Instead of suits and dresses, put every one of these fuckers in robes and cover them with chalk.
About thirty or forty tons of it.
Then, pave it over, and let the good people of this country get on with their lives.
If you scare someone half to death twice, are they completely scared to death?
Of course not. Because if you scare someone half to death a second time, they’ll be three-quarters to death.
This brings up Xeno’s best-known paradox, which describes motion as a never-ending series of “You go halfway to your destination.” In the end, you never actually reach your destination.
Then he’d dance around and shout “IN YOUR FACE!” in Greek.
Because he was acting like a dick, Xeno was beaten to death by his fellow philosophers.
Not half to death. To death.
Don’t act like a dick.
If I fall asleep, I will fall asleep.
And I will stay asleep until the alarm wakes me.
I don’t wake up with the sun because I put my bed in the basement. And I have a backwards schedule. I work at night, and sleep during the day.
It’s cooler down in the basement. Darker.
And when I wake up, I can run my undies through the clothes dryer so they’re nice and warm.
I have to take them off again when I go upstairs and have shower and a coffee.
And again and again at work.
But stripping’s fun.
Dave is a total fuckup. No matter what you hand him, he fucks it up.
And then, after he fucks up, he finds ways to make other people deal with it.
Sometimes, he leaves his fuckups on the doorstep. Then he rings the doorbell and runs like hell.
Other times, he dumps his fuckups in a neighbor’s trashcan. That way, he won’t be fined if the fuckup has a car battery or some other hazardous material in it.
He’s so good at getting rid of fuckups, we tried to put him in charge of it.
Yup. He fucked that up.
Goddamned motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, piece of shit, motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, piece of shit, mother-fucking peaches.
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches.
Shove them up your ass.
Shove them all up your ass.
All the goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches.
Just shut the fuck up.
And take your
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches
Up your ass.
Up motherfucking ass.
Shoved up your motherfucking ass.
Alvin The Census Taker goes door to door, asking questions and collecting data on his tablet.
He takes notes on the places with decent stuff to steal and without burglar alarms.
His cousin looks over the maps. He tries to mix up his collection route so the cops don’t see a pattern.
“They don’t give a fuck,” says Alvin. “My place got robbed five times, and I never got anything back.”
His cousin coughs, keeps looking over the maps.
He only robbed Alvin once.
Mistook a map to his place for a collection map.
He’s a lot more careful now.
Every year, Mommy tells me to be good so Santa will come and leave me presents.
“And so I can make that son of a bitch take a paternity test,” she mutters.
Yep. Santa left a little something one year.
The process servers say the North Pole is out of their jurisdiction.
So, Mommy left out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Santa wears mittens, so you can’t get fingerprints, but you can get trace DNA from the glass.
“It’s a match,” says the analyst.
This year, forget the bike.
I’m getting Child Support.