Everybody fancies themselves as some sort of wizard that can conjure up laughter by a few strokes of a keyboard, but only a few tweeters are truly worthy enough to have all of their witticisms transmitted to you, the ever busy comedy fan trying to navigate through an increasingly congested internet. Every Friday we'll make your life a little bit easier by introducing you to an individual that you might not know about who consistently makes us laugh and momentarily forget that other days of the week exist.
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Eli Terry (@EliTerry) is a UCB writer that probably suffers from halitosis.
Tiny little rows of exposed BONE visible from a hole in your HEAD that you have to polish EVERY SINGLE DAY. No. Go to hell, teeth. His wife wont let him sleep in the same bed as a result.
Many people are surprised to hear I'm married because I scream it at them as I descend from their broken skylight in the dead of night. When they get into a fight, Eli disappears.
In a fight with your spouse? Never go to bed angry. Stay awake forever. Wander the Earth as a Sleepless Monster eating children's dreams. He is also hard to find after he embarrasses himself.
Sometimes if I trip on a crack I act like it's no biggie by breaking into a jog and don't stop until I'm in a new city with a new life. There is the possibility that he is avoiding pet eagles.
The only way to protect ourselves from eagle attacks is of course MORE eagles. Fill our homes with these gentle, knife clawed birds of prey. Terry prefers the company of frogs.
I acted like I was hyperventilating and had to breathe into a paper bag but really my pet frog was in there and I was sneaking smooches. He sports some ink.
Showing my tattoo of my grandma to my other grandma. It's not going well. According to Eli, babies might think Skrillex is mocking them.
A parent can tell simply from the way their infant cries how much they like max volume dub step. Terry knows the rules to Cryball.
There's no crying in baseball! But there is in cryball and you're gonna make it big, kid! Are you smiling? There's no smiling in cryball! It is unknown if there was ever a Parent Trap inspired game of Cryball.
Neat if the Harbaugh brothers secretly switch sides and this was all an elaborate ruse to get their parents to fall back in love. Eli is not an erotic fiction writer.
Whenever I see a girl with a hot boob, neat buttocks, cut hair, and a face with ALL THE MOVES I always wish I knew how to describe women. But he can do almost anything else.
It's kill or be killed. Or eat a sandwich. Maybe go for a light jog. Draw a picture of a duck. There are a lot of options out there. Don't mess with him.
I brought a gun that shoots knives to a gun fight. Everybody was like whoa. We didn't even fight. Went to get nachos. Cool group of dudes. Because he is your boss.
Hey hey! Working hard or hardly working or wardly horking or hordly walkly or wakly hakly or warking dorkly?? ANSWER ME I AM YOUR BOSS Terry is an ass man.
I wanna see some BUTTS on da dance floor! ONLY butts. Detached from their owners, just kinda in a pile. In the middle. Nice. Good butt pile. Who ruined The Godfather.
Imagine a bunch of Italian mobsters tiptoeing and trying not to giggle as they gingerly place a horse head in bed with a sleeping guy. But he's still cool.
Think smoking's "COOL"? What if I do it in a leather jacket? "COOL" now? On a Harley? Still "COOL"? While I kiss this model? Is that "COOL"? Eli died.
HURRICANE DRINKING GAME: row a dinghy out into the angry sea, drink whiskey in the face of nature's fury, and die as Hemingway intended. He is rubber.
I'm rubber, you're glue. Reincarnation sucks. But don't call him rubber.
Please, "Dad" was my father's name. Call me "Dad Jr. 2.0 The Reckoning: Heeeeee's Back: The Squeakquel: Part Twice: Hanging Loose in Miami."
