(My dad and I were having a post-Thanksgiving dinner farting contest. It was getting progressively worse and worse and thus funnier and funnier until he pauses and makes a weird face.) Me: What's wrong, Dad? Dad: ... I don't trust this one. Me: ... Trust what, the fart? Dad: Aye. I think it might be a shart in disguise.
Happy birthday, son or daughter! Have some tasty floor cake!
12-Year-Old Brother: (Playing Mario Kart Wii with me) Come in behind me and I'll shoot you a mushshroom. Dad: Anal prostitution for drugs is not allowed in this household!
And their place is at the foot of the bed.
