My tip rate is 5 cents per ounce.

Kevin has sworn to open a can of Chuck Norris on someone if he hears the word Tokee-yo again. It’s Toke-yo beeotch.

I thought it was “Ryan Seacrest out”. Why must we announce everytime a pig leaves the room?

I’m pretty comfortable with shoving a cow through a grinder, but that’s clearly where it ends.

Is the winner the guy who shoves the most food in his water-soaked-hot-dog hole, or the guy who’s chair first buckles under the enormous pressure?

The best part about super tall chef hats: there’s a place for your weed.

Or what I like to call passengers putting their crusty little feet on the dashboard for fellow highway travelers to see, enjoy, and get car sick over.

…when your mouth is clearly full of food. Um, well, it appears to be edible.

I just want to know why I have to pay extra for your little meatloaf on a bun here.

Oh, I’m thrown back alright. To that one unsavory moment in time when all I had to drink was an RC Cola.

Sure, I like food, but I actually consider myself much more of a Drinkie; although, I don’t typically like to be painted with that brush.

The best part about gold flaked and caviar encrusted food is that it allows me to take the idea of  “eating, drinking and sh%tting money” to an entirely new level.

I have a better idea. How ’bout you treat me today and stop talking.

As a matter of fact I actually do like to extract ketchup from a sealed  bottle. The ensuing mockery I get from my BBQ mates really does a lot to get the party started.

You can’t hide behind your cute little acronym; we all know what the F stands for — and it’s definitely not (F)ruit.

A donut bar without a cream filled center is like a pillow fight without a pillow. It’s not funny, it just stings.

Good Lord it’s 2008 already, are you trying to tell me the science doesn’t exist to just breed one of these things.

By the way, for desert, I think I’ll have the Red Velvet cake with a Kahlua brownie shoved up its ass.

When I order a medium drink, I expect, — oh, I don’t know — a cup I can easily hold in one or possibly two hands. I’m still trying to figure out why Carl’s Jr. serves their “medium” drink in what appears to be a number 5 wash tub. Drink Up Sucka.

Imagine the full ozone assault you get to pull off while you wait 25 minutes for your eco friendly cup filled with organic chai.

I love to wake up and smell coffee. Luckily for me, there are approximately 37 Starbucks located within a 15 foot radius of my house, which means I just crack a window and suck the sheer essence of those magical beans.

What’s good? Let’s start with what’s not good. Your level of self-awareness and decision making skills for starters, Mister.

For those of you who can’t seem to manage the highly technical process of buttering a piece of toast, here’s a helpful tip: You know that rule about double dipping? Well it also applies to butter and your crusty little bread crumb covered knife.

When I’m in a big rush to slam down my daily caffeine fix, I always make sure to order Expresso. I heard it was twice as fast as Espresso.

The average human stomach has a capacity to hold approximately 1 quart, which is precisely why I prefer the 64 ounce Double Gulp. I like to live on the edge. The edge of bladder control.

Too tight + too low + too small + too many Starbucks desserts = Muffin Top.

It looks like dog food. It tastes like dog food. Yet, oddly, I’m not sure I could actually find a dog that would get near that shit shingle.