By Mike Johnson
Ahh, the three stages of a manís life: A&W. BMW. VFW.
Iím so old that my Realtor was Century19.
Iím addicted to tomato juice and vodka because Iím bloody married.
Iím serving the 45th year of a wife sentence.
The longer youíre married, the more your dominance goes doormat.
I say to mate her, she says to morrow.
She had me at ďHell no.Ē
On the day we met, I followed her home only to realize what she actually said was, ďcomb over.Ē
I wanted intimacy, but alas, she only wanted into Macys.
Iím six feet tall. Which, according to my wife, is the height of arrogance.
When I need peace, I feed her easter candy. I donít get a Peep out of her all day.
She offers to make toast while Iím in the hot tub.
Sheís a vegetarian, so for her birthday, I bought her 24 carrots.
She also loves pie, so I sent her flours.
The next day, I was late to breakfast so she changed the lox.
I accidently slept with a dolphin but she said I did it on porpoise.
To stop spawning these one-liners, she put me on mirth-control pills.
If you toss your wife into the dryer with two socks, only one comes out, but itís worn by a lawyer.
To get even, she cooks me her best French dish: Salmon Nella.
Tired of bickering, I give her a dozen roses. She reciprocates with TwoLips.
I tell her I love her. Then I cram her into the blender. Now sheís all mixed up.
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