Rodney Dangerfield’s (mostly) one-liners

Offered as a public service. Found on the Internet Movie Database, the most important reason for the Internet to exist.
It’s lonely on the top when there’s no one on the bottom.

My wife was afraid of the dark, saw me naked, now she’s afraid of the light.

I feel sorry for short people, you know. When it rains, they’re the last to know.

My wife and I were happy for 20 years. Then we met.

I told my doctor that when I woke up in the morning I couldn’t stand looking at myself in the mirror. He said, “At least we know your vision is perfect.”

If it weren’t for pickpockets, I’d have no sex life at all.

My dog learned how to beg by watching me through the bedroom door.

I was an ugly child. I got lost on the beach. I asked a cop if he could find my parents. He said, ‘I don’t know. There’s lots of places for them to hide’.

Last week my house was on fire. My wife told the kids, ‘Be quiet, you’ll wake up Daddy’.

I was ugly, very ugly. When I was born, the doctor smacked my mother.

My mother never breast-fed me. She told me she liked me better as a friend.

At my age, making love is like trying to shoot pool with a rope.

When I get in an elevator, the operator takes one look and says, “Basement?”

I drink too much. The last time I gave a urine sample it had an olive in it.

My psychiatrist told me I was crazy, and I said I wanted a second opinion. He said, ‘Okay, you’re ugly too.’

I looked up my family tree and found three dogs using it.

I’m taking Viagra and drinking prune juice. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.

When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them.

My cousin’s gay. He went to London only to find out that Big Ben is a clock.

I could tell my parents hated me. My bath toys were a toaster and a radio.

What a kid I’ve got. I told him about the birds and the bees, and he told me about the butcher and my wife.

I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous: everyone hasn’t met me yet.

A Red Sox fan’s prayer

Dear Lord:

Thank You for revealing the concept of Facebook on those stone tablets You showed that Zuckerberg kid a while back.

Facebook allows people to wish me a happy birthday without having to mess with stamps and cards and stuff.

So that’s cool.

But I do want to ask You one thing, Lord. I just have one birthday wish.

Please help the Red Sox stop their swoon and stomp the living piss out of the Rays today.

This won’t go over well with some of my Florida friends, but they’ll understand. If the situation was reversed, and their team was in the midst of a terrible skid, they’d be asking for something similar.

So that’s all I want, Lord.

Had a birthday cake yesterday. That was good. I just a W, Lord, that’s all.

Thanks. You bless You.



(You might remember me as Creation No. 781, 352, 617, 803, 840, 940, 428,  762, 305, 092, 983, 042, 188, 672, 193, 214)

PS. These Winklevoss Twins keep saying You showed them the Facebook Tablets first. Anything You can do to set the record straight? We’re getting tired of their whining.

*** Of course I remember you, Bill. But you’re fucked if you think I’m helping out with the Red Sox this year. You’re on your own.  And fuck the Winklevai.***


I took a trip to Oxford, Mississippi, but detoured through Clarksdale — which is way out of the way. But since it’s ground zero for the blues, I had to make the pilgrimage.

Ground Zero, Morgan Freeman’s blues club, adjacent to the Delta Blues Museum.
The sign outside a convenience store would seem to indicate that you need look no further for all of the essentials of life.
This is where the clerisy of Clarksdale shops.
Should you need pork fat, I can set you up.
Where 61 and 49 meet — the crossroads where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil. There’s a great barbecue place there too.
I stayed in the Guitar Slim suite at the B&B.