These half-assed online pranks are so lame. Unless they’re about genie movies. Those are still good.

Grant’s working smarter, not harder.

He might be missing teeth, but his gut flora’s never looked better.

They’re throwing out the rulebook for a different copy of that same rulebook.

Phones are for storing important contacts like “Red Shirt – Starbucks”.

If only nerds knew what it felt like to be mocked for their interests.

The way these babies fight for their lives is so inspiring, it would be wrong to intervene.

Young Thug is so uncouth. Raph prefers classic songs like Other People’s P*ssy.

Why won’t you do this one thing for me that I secretly want to do?

Who wants to go to the South, anyway?

Brennan is not going to let the tiniest bit of Ebola stop him from pitching 3-4 comedy sketches.

What do Grant, Raph, Katie, and handsome ex-heart surgeon Bassem Youssef all have in common?

Raph’s creepy stalker was taking pictures of him nine months before he was even born.

Brennan is there for Rekha, and that means he needs to abandon all logic.

How dare you forsake pumpkin spice?

Grant has amnesia. Not even a cool story. He hit his head on his car roof because he forgot it’s not a convertible.

My friends give the best advice. Did I say best? I meant most.

Don’t worry, Brennan has the perfect dinner party guest list to kill Hitler and stop 9/11.

The survival rate for public humiliation has gotten way too high.

The language of love can be hard to crack.

Everybody worries about the victim, but what about the person that caused them pain? Are they supposed to reflect on it and change? That seems hard!

Brennan is from beautiful New York City. YEAH, HE SAID IT. BEAUTIFUL. SORRY YOU’RE SCARED OF PIGEONS AND CLUTCH YOUR BAG CLOSE EVERY TIME SOMEONE SPEAKS ABOVE A WHISPER.

If you think about it, aren’t turd holders the true persecuted minority?

She really means it this time.

Is it too much to ask for Trapp, Raph, and Jess to keep a simple 12th of the year open to celebrate Rekha’s entrance into the world?