I’m on a seafood diet – I see food and I eat it.
My bed and I are in a committed relationship, but my alarm clock keeps coming between us.
I speak fluent movie quotes.
Exercise? I thought you said extra fries.
I put the “pro” in procrastinate.
Life status: currently held together with duct tape.
I’m not lazy, I’m conserving energy.
My wallet is like an onion—opening it makes me cry.
I followed my heart and it led me straight to the fridge.
I whisper “Seriously?” to myself at least 20 times a day.
I’m multitasking: I can listen, ignore, and forget at the same time.
If we’re not meant to eat midnight snacks, why is there a light in the fridge?
I dance like nobody’s watching, because they’re all checking their phones.
Namast’ay in bed all day.
My brain has too many tabs open.
I’m not weird, I’m a limited edition.
I’m on a mission to kill my hunger.
I told my computer I needed a break, and now it won’t stop sending me Kit Kat ads.
Change is inevitable—except from a vending machine.
I warm up before running out of money.
I’m allergic to mornings.
If there was an award for laziness, I’d send someone to pick it up for me.
My alone time is for everyone’s safety.
Life’s too short for matching socks.
I don’t trip—I do random gravity checks.
I pretend to work; they pretend to pay me.
I’m not clumsy—I’m just gravity tested.
My bed is calling and I must go.
Don’t worry if plan A fails—there are 25 more letters in the alphabet.
