Can’t Argue with That

My momma always told me:

Don’t break a person’s heart; they only have one. Break their bones; they have 206.

Who can argue with that logic? Here are some other logical statements with which you won’t want to argue, either.

I asked my wife what she wanted for her birthday. She said, “Nothing would make me happier than diamond earrings.” So, I got her nothing.

I find it strange that my advisor always begins conversations with me by saying, “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

It doesn’t matter if the glass is half empty or half full; either way, there is room for more alcohol.

I only drink twice a year: when it’s my birthday, and when it’s not.

My math teacher just fell in a wishing well. Go figure! I never knew they worked.

My advisor says I’ll never graduate because I’m lazy. But I just can’t take that kind of criticism. I was going to kill myself… but the gun’s, like, way over there.

Don’t judge a book by its cover… my math book has a picture of someone enjoying himself.

A grad student told his friend, “My girlfriend hates it when I sneak up behind her and kiss her on the cheek. But according to her lawyer, she also hates it when I call her my girlfriend.”

I got a tattoo of Chinese symbols on my arm that reads, “I don’t know. I don’t speak Chinese.” So when someone asks what it says…

Boy: I hate my math professor. He’s a terrible lecturer, he has bad breath, and he laughs at his own jokes.
Girl: Who’s your professor?
Boy: Dr. Jacoby.
Girl: Do you know who I am?
Boy: No.
Girl: I’m Dr. Jacoby’s daughter.
Boy: Do you know who I am?
Girl: No.
Boy: Good.

A New Tattoo

I was both nervous and excited when I walked into the tattoo shop. I had been working extra hours in the tutoring center to save for this, and the moment had finally arrived. Sure, I could have played it safe and asked for a tribal pattern on my upper arm. But I’ve always lived by the mantra, “Go big, or go home.”

“What are we doing today?” the tattooist asked.

“How about x + 6 across my left cheek?” A blank stare. “You know, like from algebra,” I explained.

I got the sense he wanted to ask some follow-up questions… but then decided against it. Instead, he started inking. Twenty minutes later, he held up a mirror so I could see his handiwork.

“You don’t like it, do you?” he asked.

“No, no, I love it!” I said. “What makes you think I don’t like it?”

“I can tell by the expression on your face.”