Short of a Full Deck | The Joke Archives

“Body by Fisher — brains by Mattel.”
$HOME = /dev/null.
3K RAM free, no EMS.
A .22 caliber intellect in a .357 Magnum world.
A 10K brain attached to a 9600 baud mouth.
A 20th century man… The guy has no future.
A 3.5-inch drive, but data on punch cards.
A black-and-white mind working on a color-coded problem.
A brain like a BB in a boxcar/box of Corn Flakes.
A couple of slates short of a full roof.
A couplet short of a sonnet.
A cup and saucer short of a place setting.
A day late and a dollar short.
A deadbolt with a broken cylinder.
A doughnut short of being a cop.
A few beads short in her rosary.
A few beans short of chili.
A few beers short of a six-pack
A six-pack short of a case.
A few birds shy of a flock.
A few blocks short of a filesystem.
A few bombs/melons short of a full load.
A few bricks short of a wall/hod/load/pile.
A few chips short of a cookie.
A few clowns short of a circus.
A few clues shy of a solution.
A few cold solder joints.
A few ears short of a bushel.
A few feathers short of a whole duck.
A few few cylinders short of a full re-format.
A few fish short of a string.
A few french fries/one hamburger short of a Happy Meal.
A few guppies short of an aquarium.
A few inches short of a foot/yard.
A few kernels short of an ear.
A few kopeks short of a ruble.
A few links shy of a chain.
A few measures short of a staff.
A few open splices.
A few peas short of a pod/casserole.
A few pickles short of a jar.
A few pies short of a holiday.
A few planes short of an Air Force/hangar.
A few points short of a polygon.
A few revisions behind.
A few sandwiches/apples/ants short of a picnic.
A few screws loose.
A few shrimps short of a barbie.
A few spoons short of a full set.
A few straws shy of a bale.
A few tiles missing from his space shuttle.
A few tiles short of a successful re-entry.
A few too many lights out in his Christmas tree.
A few volts below threshold.
A few yards short of the hole.
A flash of light, a cloud of dust, and… What was the question?
A gross ignoramus — 144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.
A hop, skip, and jump from success, but to get there he’d have to give up chewing gum.
A kangaroo loose in her top paddock.
A lap behind the field.
A little light in his loafers.
A looney tune.
A medical mystery.
A mental midget with the IQ of a fencepost. — Tom Waits
A mind as empty as the sleeping pill concession at a honeymoon hotel.
A mind like wet tennis shoes… Makes squishy noises when running.
A modest little person, with much to be modest about. — Churchill
A natural talent for finding subliminal messages in ice cubes.
A Neanderthal brain in a Cro-Magnon body.
A notch off the timing mark.
A one-bit brain with a parity error.
A pacifist out of necessity in a battle of wits.
A photographic memory, but the lens cover is glued on.
A prime candidate for natural deselection.
A quart low.
A return with no gosub.
A room temperature IQ.
A semitone flat on the high notes.
A square with only three sides.
A steering wheel/few bolts short of a Yugo.
A teapot with a cracked lid.
A titanic intellect… In a world full of icebergs.
A vacuum-tube brain in a microchip world.
A VGA card and a Hercules monitor.
A victim of retroactive birth control.
A violin minus the bow.
A walking argument for birth control.
A wind-up clock without a key.
About half smart.
Afraid she’ll void her warranty if she thinks too much.
Airhead/bubble-brain.
Aliens zapped him with stupidity ray — twice.
All booster, no payload.
All crown, no filling.
All foam, no beer.
All hammer, no nail.
All hat and no cattle.
All he remembers about his middle name is the first letter.
All his eggs in the same basket.
All his learning curves look like Mount Everest.
All icing, no cake.
All lime and salt, no tequila.
All missile, no warhead.
All of his bytes are odd.
All shot, no powder.
All the lights don’t shine in her marquee.
All the personality of linoleum flooring/plasticene/putty/ caulking/saran wrap/a bowl of oatmeal/a plastic spoon.
All the sex appeal of a wet paper bag.
All wax and no wick.
Alphabetizes junk mail/T-shirts/canonical lists.
Always in the right place, but at the wrong time.
Always loses battles of wits because he’s unarmed.
Always needs to have jokes explained.
Always sharpening his sleeping skills.
An 8080 in a 68000 environment.
An alligator. (All mouth, no ears.)
An Apple //e on UUCP.
An early example of the Peter Principle.
An ego like a black hole.
An example of how the dinosaurs survived for millions of years with walnut sized brains.
An experiment in Artificial Stupidity.
An expert on the historical significance of cottage cheese.
An inch short and a stroke early.
An intellect rivaled only by garden tools.
An XT clone in a Pentium zone.
Ano-fossal ambiguity. (Can’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground.)
Another engineering prototype that should not have been shipped.
Answers the door when the phone rings.
Any slower and he’d be in reverse. — Gignac
As a baby his parents stood him on his soft spot.
As bent as a corkscrew.
As bright as a nightlight/small appliance bulb/tulip bulb.
As focused as a fart.
As happy as if he had brains.
As happy as the village idiot.
As much use as a back pocket in a vest.
As much use as a lead parachute.
As quick as a corpse.
As rare as a nine bob note.
As sharp as a marble/bowling ball/beachball/pin head/wet sponge/bowl of Jello/mashed potato sandwich, and twice as smart.
As sharp as a sack full of wet mice. — Foghorn Leghorn
As smart as a politician/lawyer is honest.
As smart as bait/an automatic email responder script.
As smart as Christie Brinkley is ugly.
As thick as champ. (Irish; champ is mostly mashed spuds and cabbage.)
As thick as two short planks/two half bricks.
As worn out as a cucumber in a convent.
Attic’s a little dusty.
Back burners not fully operating.
Bad spot on the disk.
Baler done run out of twine.
Bandwidth limited.
Barney’s his hero.
Bats have flown the belfry, and now he’s all alone.
Bats in the belfry.
Batteries not included.
Been napping in front of the ion shield again.
Been playing with his wand too much.
Been playing with the pharmacy section again.
Been short on oxygen one time too many.
Been using her head as a mass driver.
Better at sex than anyone; now all he needs is a partner.
Blew his O-rings.
Blew the hatch before the lock sealed.
Blocked one too many hockey pucks/soccer balls/punches with his head.
Blown/leaking head gasket.
Born a day late and like that ever since.
Born during low tide in the gene pool/swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool.
Born ugly and built to last.
Both oars in the water, but on the same side of the boat.
Brain is running on empty.
Brain like a hard drive with no read/write head.
Brain permanently in power saving/8-bit mode.
Brain transplant donor.
Bright as a Zippo lighter without a flint.
Bright as Alaska in December.
Bright as an acetylene torch — without an oxygen supply.
Brings binoculars to submarine races.
Broadcasts static.
Bubbles/leaks in her think tank.
Built a special showcase for his herd of pet rocks.
Busier than a one-armed paper hanger.
Busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.
Caboose seems to be pulling the engine.
Cackles a lot, but I ain’t seen no eggs yet.
Calling her stupid would be an insult to stupid people.
Calling him a pea brain would be an undeserved compliment.
Calls people to ask them their phone number.
Can be outwitted by a jar of Marshmallow Fluff.
Can discern facts and form predictions with the acumen of an economist.
Can easily be confused with facts.
Can only remember her old passwords.
Can only shoot pool with a left-handed cue stick.
Can’t count his balls and get the same answer twice.
Can’t distinguish jacking off and stropping a razor.
Can’t find his ass with two hands and a periscope/compass/flashlight/bloodhound/GPS receiver (in a locked closet).
Can’t find log base two of 65536 without a calculator.
Can’t program his way out of a for-loop.
Car’s only got three wheels, and one’s going flat.
Carrier wave unmodulated.
Carries a tire gauge in her purse.
Cart can’t hold all the groceries.
Cauliflower for brains.
Changes hands and picks up a stroke.
Charming as a carbuncle.
Cheats when filling out opinion polls.
Cheezwiz for brains.
Chimney’s clogged.
Clock doesn’t have all its numbers.
Colder than a well-digger’s ass in the Klondike.
Collects cards for Craig.
Communications with him is limited to ping.
Confused as a baby in a topless bar.
Consumes hard drugs as vitamins.
Contributes to collections like this one without searching first to see if their little gem is already listed.
Contributes to the population problem.
Could be considered a plant if he developed photrophic motility.
Could only be loved/missed if the minister read someone else’s eulogy.
Couldn’t balance a checkbook if Einstein helped.
Couldn’t count to 21 if he were barefoot and without pants.
Couldn’t find his way through a maze even if the rats helped him.
Couldn’t get a clue during clue mating season in a field full of horny clues if he smeared his body with clue musk and did the clue
mating dance.
Couldn’t get laid if he crawled up a chicken’s rear end and waited his turn.
Couldn’t hit sand if he fell off a camel.
Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if he were standing inside.
Couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. (Common in Australia.)
Couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.
Couldn’t think/pee his way out of a paper bag.
Couldn’t write dialog for a porno flick.
CPU is always in powersave mode.
CPU not connected to the bus.
Cranial cavity filled with neutronic matter.
Cranio-rectally inverted.
Cunning as a dodo bird.
Cursor’s flashing but there’s no response.
Dealing with him is less fun than going to the dentist.
Dealing with him is one angst worse than a blind date.
Deep as her dimples/reflection in a mirror.
Defective hard drive/boot sector.
Dense as a London fog.
Diarrhea of the mouth; constipation of the ideas.
Differently clued. — Dave Clark
Dock doesn’t quite reach the water.
Does aerobics… in his head.
Does everything the hard way, like making love standing up in a hammock.
Doesn’t adjust for leap years.
Doesn’t consider his drive a slice unless it lands two fairways over.
Doesn’t have a fart’s prayer in a hurricane.
Doesn’t have a round in every chamber.
Doesn’t have all his cornflakes in one box.
Doesn’t have all his dogs on one leash/cups in the cupboard/groceries in the same bag.
Doesn’t have all the dots on his dice/pens in her plotter.
Doesn’t have both oars in the water — can’t even find the damn boat.
Doesn’t have elastic in both of his socks.
Doesn’t have his belt through all the loops.
Doesn’t have sixteen annas to the rupee.
Doesn’t have the brain power to toast a crouton.
Doesn’t have the sense God gave an animal cracker.
Doesn’t have two neurons to rub together.
Doesn’t just know nothing; doesn’t even suspect much.
Doesn’t know much, but leads the league in nostril hair. – Billing
Doesn’t know whether to scratch his watch or wind his balls.
Doesn’t know which side the toast is buttered on.
Doesn’t put the cross-hairs on the target.
Doesn’t quite sample at the Nyquist rate.
Doesn’t suffer from ear pressure when flying at altitude.
Donated her body to scientists… Before she was done using it.
Downhill skiing in Iowa.
Driveway doesn’t quite reach the garage.
Driving at night with the lights off.
Driving with two wheels in the sand.
Dropped his second stage too soon.
Dumb as asphalt/dirt/a mud fence/a stump/a sack of hammers.
Dumber than a chicken/box of hair/rocks.
During evolution his ancestors were in the control group.
Ears are redirected to /dev/null.
Easier to count the bricks left than the bricks missing.
Echoes between the ears.
Eight pawns short of a gambit.
Elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor/penthouse.
Elevator goes all the way to the top but the door doesn’t open.
Elevator is on the ground floor and he’s pushing the Down button.
End of season sale at the cerebral department. — Gareth Blackstock
Enjoys listening to telemarketers.
Enough sawdust between the ears to bed an elephant.
Even a two button mouse gives him too many options.
Evidence for the theory of a missing link.
Failed the Turing test.
Fell out of the family tree.
Fifty-one cards short of a full deck.
Fighting the war with a starter pistol/water pistol/pop gun/cap gun.
Finds a flat by swapping tires.
Finds canonical humor collections amusing.
Finds Sesame Street/knock-knock jokes challenging.
Fired from McDonald’s for having a short attention span.
Fired her retro-rockets a little late.
Flaky.
Flat out like a lizard drinking.
Flying/landing on one engine.
Focused like a 12 gauge shotgun.
Fog rolled in the day he was born, and a bit of it never rolled out.
Folds ace plus red jack hand when playing blackjack.
Foreign substances float in his cranial fluids.
Forgot to pay his brain bill.
Found his marbles, but is playing jacks with them.
Four bits shy of a full DEC.
Four cents short of a nickel.
Full of wisdumb.
Full throttle, dry tank.
Fur coat and no knickers.
Gasoline engine, diesel fuel.
Gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn’t coming.
Gavel doesn’t quite hit the bench.
Gears grind/don’t always mesh.
Gets a charge out of pissing on electric fences.
Gets her mail at an unknown zip code.
Gets his orders from another planet.
Gets hypnotized on the de-spun section.
Gets parity errors under load.
Gives a lot of bull for somebody what ain’t got no cattle.
Goalie for the dart team.
God might still use him for miracle practice.
God’s favorite target for lightning strikes.
Goes with the flow… He’s a bed wetter.
Good at quantum tunneling but not much else.
Got a life, but wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Got his brains as a stocking stuffer.
Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn’t watching.
Guillotining him would make only an aesthetic difference.
Gyros are loose.
Habits explainable if he was raised by wolves.
Had a head crash.
Half a bubble off plumb. — attributed to Mark Twain
Happiness is seeing her picture on a milk carton.
Hard to distinguish from the tail end of a horse.
Hard to tell if he has an ace up his sleeve or if the ace is missing from his deck altogether.
Has a bus fault problem.
Has a few wait states.
Has a full six-pack but lacks the plastic thing to hold them together.
Has a leak in his ceiling.
Has a one-way ticket on the Disoriented Express.
Has a pulse, but that’s about all.
Has a random memory fault.
Has a slow clock.
Has a sparse matrix.
Has a two-bit operating system.
Has all her bricks, but no cement holding them together.
Has all the brains God gave a duck’s ass.
Has an inferiority complex, but not a very good one.
Has an IQ one lower than it takes to grunt.
Has change for a seven dollar bill.
Has FINO (first in never out) memory.
Has his brain on cruise control again.
Has his solar panels aimed at the moon.
Has it floored in neutral.
Has no discretionary intellect.
Has no upper stage.
Has nothing to say, but delights in saying it.
Has only one chopstick in the chowmein.
Has resonance where others have brains.
Has signs on both ears saying “Space for Rent”.
Has so few thoughts that when he free associates, it’s like watching tennis.
Has the attention span of an overripe grapefruit.
Has the brains of a house plant.
Has the Grand Canyon under the crew cut.
Has the IQ of a salad bar/an ice cube/three below houseplant.
Has the keen awareness of an ostrich in hiding.
Has the mental agility of a soap dish.
Has the personality of a snail on Valium.
Has the same talent as Dr. Doolittle.
Has two brains; one is lost and the other is out looking for it.
Hasn’t caught on that X and Y are relative values.
Hasn’t got all his china in the cupboard.
Hasn’t got the brains God gave a cat.
Having a party in his head, but no one else is invited.
He can only type in upper case.
He can push but he can’t pop.
He demonstrates that beauty times brains is a constant.
He donated his brain to science but they made an early withdrawal.
He fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
He has a bad brains-to-balls ratio.
He knows computers… He’s not fit for contact with humans.
He writes blank checks on a closed account.
He’d screw up a two-car funeral procession.
He’s a General Protection Fault trigger.
He’s a man on a mission, but can’t find his dossier.
He’s diagnosable.
He’s not a complete idiot — some parts are missing.
He’s not stupid; he’s possessed by a retarded ghost.
He’s really into himself… His head is up his ass.
He’s so dense, light bends around him.
He’s so dense, the Titanic wouldn’t sink in his head.
Hears everything that a dog can.
Hears more lyrics on records when they’re played backwards.
Her access time approaches infinity.
Her ancestors came to this country looking for bananas.
Her ass is sucking swamp gas.
Her blender doesn’t go past “mix”.
Her brain has a corrupted filesystem/someone needs to run fdisk on her brain.
Her brain is more like a Rube Goldberg device than a computer.
Her cache is incoherent.
Her dentist went deaf from the drill’s echoes.
Her dialing thumb must be broken.
Her ears serve the same function as holes in a dribble glass.
Her files are compressed 100%.
Her head needs a periodic whack on the side.
Her input pipe is broken.
Her interrupt handler hit a loop.
Her leads need resoldering.
Her learning curve is fractal.
Her lint trap is full.
Her lists are unlinked.
Her memory is truly random-access.
Her mental function can be graphed with a single dot.
Her mere presence causes parity errors, power fails, and head crashes.
Her mind is not grounded to a logic supply.
Her mind might have spontaneously combusted.
Her mind would be unstable even mounted on a tripod.
Her modem lights are on but there’s no carrier.
Her objects are not fully oriented.
Her phone doesn’t quite reach her desk.
Her pool balls don’t fit into the rack.
Her random access is the same as her sequential access.
Her sewing machine’s been out of thread for some time now.
Her ski lift doesn’t go to the top of the hill.
Her stack has been corrupted.
Her synapses are about |that| far apart.
Her system file has zero bytes.
Her tires are a little low.
Her wipers don’t touch the glass.
Her word length is zero bits.
Hid behind the door when they passed out brains.
High relative humidity… He’s lost in a fog.
His .sig is long, boring, and stupid, but it’s the best part of his postings.
His access light’s on, but the drive isn’t spinning/is still spinning up.
His accumulator overflows at zero.
His actual mileage varies.
His antenna/radio doesn’t pick up all the channels/stations.
His boot block is in a bad sector.
His brackets are mismatched.
His brain could be the perfect dielectric.
His brain was sold separately and they were out of stock.
His brain would rattle around in a gnat’s navel.
His buffer is full.
His clutch is slipping.
His data bus stops for red lights.
His deck has no face cards.
His elevator is stuck between floors.
His face is on a coin… On the edge.
His family wasn’t dysfunctional until he arrived.
His freelist is empty.
His future is behind schedule. — Bob Thaves
His gene line isn’t just dead, it’s extinct.
His golf bag does not contain a full set of irons. — Robin Williams
His grey matter is brown/doesn’t matter.
His head whistles in a cross wind.
His home planet is flat.
His IQ is a false positive.
His jack can’t get the car off the ground.
His mind is a few Hertz off its assigned frequency.
His mind is great at error magnification.
His mind is less substantial than the Emperor’s new clothes.
His mind is on vacation but his mouth is working overtime.
His mind is write-protected/write-only.
His mind reached escape velocity and achieved orbit.
His mind wandered and never came back.
His motto is: Space, the final frontier.
His mouth rarely makes calls to his brain.
His outgoing message starts with, “Hello, Mr. Answering Machine.”
His page was intentionally left blank.
His picture is in the dictionary under “zero”.
His pointers are null/uninitialized.
His puzzle is missing a few pieces.
His reaction time is longer than his attention span. — Thaves
His root file system isn’t mounted.
His seat back is not in the full upright and locked position.
His shared libraries aren’t installed.
His signal-to-noise ratio is epsilon.
His spark can’t jump the gap.
His spirit guide is a three-toed sloth.
His stack’s not very deep/he has an eight-byte stack.
His string’s aren’t null-terminated.
His strip is demagnetized.
His system administrator is never in.
His train tracks aren’t quite parallel.
His URL denies outside access.
His watch dog is sleeping.
His wisdom is stolen from bumper-stickers and T-shirts.
Hitler’s evil twin.
Hyperspatially interconnected/permanently disconnected neural net.
Hypnotized as a child and couldn’t be woken.
I wouldn’t piss in his ear if his brain was on fire.
I’d like to buy him for what he’s worth and sell him for what he thinks he’s worth.
If brains were bird droppings, he’d have a clean cage.
If brains were dynamite, she wouldn’t have enough to blow her nose/her hat off/the wax out of her ears.
If brains were farts, he couldn’t stink up the inside of a matchbox.
If brains were gasoline, he wouldn’t have enough to drive a dinky car around the inside of a cheerio.
If brains were grains of sand, he couldn’t fill a dixie cup.
If brains were lard, he’d be hard pressed to grease a small pan.
If brains were taxed, he’d get a rebate.
If brains were water, hers wouldn’t be enough to baptize a flea.
If God tried to help him, we’d have an eight day week.
If he donated his brain to science it’d set civilization back 50 years.
If he gets any denser, the geocentric theory of the universe will come true.
If he had a lobotomy he’d depressurize.
If he had another brain, it would be lonely.
If he had brains, he’d take them out and play with them.
If he had console lights, we would see only the idle loop patterns.
If he had half a brain, his ass would be lopsided.
If he were any brighter he’d be in the visible spectrum.
If he were any more stupid, he’d have to be watered twice a week.
If her brains were put in a hummingbird, it would fly backwards.
If his brain were a hard drive, it would back up on a single floppy.
If his brains were money, he’d still be in debt.
If his IQ was two points higher he’d be a rock.
If ignorance were bliss, she’d be orgasmic.
If it’s not in his horoscope/tea leaves, he doesn’t take it seriously.
If not for his scrotum, he would lose his balls.
If sex appeal were dynamite, he couldn’t blow the cobwebs off his balls.
If she had a disk we could upgrade her with DOS 3.0.
If she was any dumber, she’d be a green plant.
If stupidity were a crime, he’d be number one on the Most Wanted list.
If the government ever declared war on stupidity, he’d get nuked.
If there were a merciful God he’d be dead by now.
If they each had half a brain, they’d still only have half a brain.
If they knock heads, implosion will suck all the air out of the room.
If what you don’t know can’t hurt you, she’s practically invulnerable.
If wit were shit, he’d be constipated.
If you called him a wit, you’d be half right.
If you give him a penny for his thoughts, you get change back.
If you stand close enough to him, you can hear the ocean.
Ignorant, and proud of it.
Immune from any serious head injury.
Immune to caffeine and all other stimulants.
In a tub of Preparation H, he’d shrink down to thumb size.
In his optimum environment, he’d be locked in a life and death struggle with mushrooms.
In line for brains, thought they said pains, and said, “No, thanks”.
In line for brains, thought they said were handing out milkshakes, and he asked for “extra thick.”
In need of a ROM upgrade.
In serious need of attitude adjustment.
In the shopping mall of the mind, he’s in the toy store.
In touch with her higher power, but out of touch with the rest of us.
Includes a “thank you” note with her tax returns.
Infinite space between her ears.
Informationally deprived.
Inhabits her own private timezone.
Inspected by #13.
Inspired the slogan, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”
Intellectually/synaptically challenged.
Invented a pencil with an eraser on each end.
Invented a submarine with a screen door.
IQ = dx / (1 + dx), where x = age.
IQ lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon-rut.
It’s hard to believe he beat 100,000 other sperm.
Just another flash in the bedpan.
Keeps his imagination on a long leash.
Knitting with only one needle.
Knows his sports, but his understanding is limited to violence.
Landing with his gear/brain up and locked.
Leaky sunroof.
Left hand threaded.
Left his booster on the launch pad.
Left the store without all of his groceries.
Leveled off before reaching altitude.
Life by Norman Rockwell, but screenplay by Stephen King.
Lightbulb over his head is burned out.
Lights are on but nobody’s home.
Lights not burning too bright.
Like a barometer — vacuum at the top.
Like a loose-leaf folder in winter.
Like a one-armed man climbing a rope.
Likes dunking for french fries.
Little red choo-choo’s gone chugging ’round the bend/jumped the track.
Lives in La-la-land.
Lives in the same world, but a different universe.
Living proof that nature does not abhor a vacuum.
Long on dry wall, short on studs.
Looking for a nickel in the corner of a circular room.
Looks for the “Any” key.
Loose chip on the microprocessor board.
Loose wire to his headset/ringer.
Low on thinking gas.
Low-bandwidth as an information source.
Lugnuts rattling in the hubcaps.
Made a career out of mid-life crisis.
Mainspring’s wound too tight.
Makes a black hole look bright.
Makes predictions that make weathermen/economists look good.
Memorized every Dr. Seuss story written.
Mental software is Version 1.0/still in beta test.
Mentally qualified for handicapped parking.
Metronome needs oil.
Might still be a virgin except for what nature did to her mind.
Mind like a steel sieve.
Mind like a steel trap — everything gets mangled/full of mice/nothing in, nothing out/rusted shut.
Missing a few buttons on his remote control.
Missing a few catalog cards / gears / marbles.
Missing a layer of insulation in his attic.
Monorail doesn’t go all the way to Tomorrowland.
Mooring lines don’t reach the dock.
More marbles in a spray-paint can than brains in his head.
Mouth is in gear, brain is in neutral.
Moves his lips to pretend he’s reading.
Must have ignored a knock-down pitch.
Nearly on a higher plane, but lost his boarding pass.
Needs another brain to make half-wit.
Needs both hands to wipe his behind.
Needs front end alignment.
Needs his disk checked/reformatted.
Needs his sleeves lengthened by a couple of feet so they can be tied in the back.
Network constantly loses packets.
Neurons are firing non-sequentially.
Never had a headcold in her life since diseases can’t exist in a vacuum.
Next-day delivery in a nanosecond world. — Van Jacobson
Nice house but not much furniture / nobody lives there.
Nine pence in the shilling.
Nine rooms; no furniture.
Nineteen cents short of a paradigm.
No charge in her synapses.
No coins in the old fountain.
No filter in the coffeemaker.
No grain in the silo.
No hands on the rudder/yoke.
No hay in the loft.
No one at the throttle.
No wind in her mind’s windmills.
Not all his dogs are barking.
Not an idiot, but plays one in his life.
Not as dumb as he looks, but that would be impossible.
Not digging in the same ditch with the rest of us.
Not done evolving yet.
Not enough brain cells for the Prozac to be effective.
Not enough brains to get anywhere NEAR the gutter.
Not enough change to break a dollar/pound/Euro/yen.