Dad: Why’d you lick the floor?

3-year-old: I didn’t lick the floor. I bite the floor.

Editor 1: “I hate grammar.”

Editor 2: “You’re fired!”

Editor 1: “I hate grammar.”

Editor 2: “You’re fired!”

3-Year-Old:  Mommy, I have a joke for you!

Mother:  Okay, what?

3-Year-Old:  BUTT!

She is ready to write sitcoms.

One evening soon thereafter I took her to the store with me (which I am thankful to have to do less often nowadays) so she could “help” and I could look like I was talking to someone rather than mumbling crazily to myself about what I was forgetting and how gross the tomatoes look and how coffee is never on sale anymore. I noticed the tortillas right in front of me just as I remembered we needed them and exclaimed victoriously, “Tortillas!”

And AJ began to sing:

Tortillas was a wee little man

A wee little man was he . . .

Tortillas, Zacchaeus . . . they do sound rather alike.

Pastor: How do you know your mom and dad love each other?

Girl: Hugs and kisses.

Boy: Not divorcing!

Guy: “So now you’ve met my friends, ‘The Geek Clan.’ ”

College student: “I could tell.”

A few weeks ago Aaron was playing this and we were laughing especially over the part where T-Pain says “Amputation…boop!” and “chops” his arm off. Aaron was thinking about it again at dinner and said idly, “Amputation…” and AJ said, “Boop!” We cracked up so hard!

Professor: Hey, Joe, I was bragging you up this weekend!

Student: Well, that’s gonna come back to bite you.

(Submitted by Aaron. Names changed to protect the bragworthy.)

They found me. I don’t know how, but they found me.

Not, no the Libyans, Marty. The Facebook legions. The many proud members of the Wendy Wetzel Should Join Facebook Group.

I confess: I’ve had an account for a while, just sitting there reserving my name for me. But I am not, repeat NOT, going to start using the thing until my demands are met.

Yes, I have demands. I will not give you something awesome (me) for nothing. You cannot shame me into your gang. (You must bribe me.)

WENDY WETZEL’S FACEBOOK DEMANDS:

1. At least 100 people must join the Wendy Wetzel Should Join Facebook Group. (This is a reduction from 500, so be thankful you have a shot.) These must be people I actually know, not creepy random stalker people.
2. This post must receive at least 50 comments telling me you joined WWSJFB and why.
3. You must convince me that the fact that I never got a Xanga or MySpace page before they went the way of the parachute pant (that is, lame fads of the past) is not all the more reason I should just wait it out for Facebook to go out of style too.
4. You must convince me that the amount of time I’ve wasted just talking about FB will not be dwarfed by the time I waste on it. Or that it will but it’s totally worth it.
5. Promise me you’ll never ask me to play Scrabble with you or build a city together or join your mafia or whatever the heck else you nerds do on there. The Internetz are for stalking people from a distance, not pretending we’re holed up in a cabin somewhere during a blizzard.
6. Y’all get on da Twitter and follow me. You can link your FB status and Twitter. Twitter takes two minutes to set up; Facebook takes two weeks to figure out how to even read. So this is the least you can do for me.
7. Post on the WWSJFB group or on Twitter photos of yourselves on your knees holding signs begging me to join or engaging in other similarly shameless pleading behavior. (When hashtag #WWSJFB is trending on Twitter, you’ll know you’re making progress.)
8. Convince me that this will not happen to me! “Why I Left Facebook”
9. Convince me that Facebook will not again suddenly declare that they own my everything, forever.

And finally, and this is very important:

10. Promise me you will never, ever, under any circumstances, use “Facebook” as a verb, as in “I facebooked you.” No! You “facebook” me, I’m gonna “outhouse” our “friend”ship. Capiche?

Your move, Facebookers. You want me? Show me what you’ve got.

STUDENT: I hate that guy.