Dementia is a bitch, but it can also be endearing. Especially when I pee in the fridge and put my socks in the toaster.
They say you are what you eat. But I like to think I’m more than just a bratwurst sausage and a bottle of Imodium.
If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck and looks like a duck then it must be a duck. But if it just looks like a duck then it’s probably Joan Rivers.
Dennis the Menace was a juvenile delinquent. Charlie Brown was a complete and utter loser. You would be too if you were stuck in the same grade since 1950.
Double standards are the antediluvian remnants of a world that disappeared with the top hat.
The Chinese say: when a tree falls the monkeys scatter, one mouse dropping ruins the whole pot of rice porridge, and three people can make up a tiger.
Prejudices are horrible things. So are the English.
Reading a Harlequin won’t improve your sex life. Neither will marriage.
If my house is a lady and my desk a mister, then why does my wallet have a vagina? Comprehending French nouns can be sexually frustrating.
Nothing says dementia like Depends-wrapped mustard seeds under the Christmas Tree.