I'm like a slinky - not really good for anything, but kinda fun to push down the stairs.

I'm so bad at dating, my love life could be a case study for what not to do.

I'm so uncoordinated, I've tripped over my own shoelaces while sitting down.

My face is so forgettable, I once introduced myself to someone I had already met three times.

I'm such a bad chef, even the smoke alarm cheers when I order takeout.

I'm so clumsy, I once walked into a sliding door and apologized to it.

I'm so indecisive, I can't even stick to a decision in a multiple-choice quiz.

I'm such a bad singer, my neighbors thought a cat was being strangled when I tried to hit a high note.

I'm so uncoordinated, I trip over virtual furniture in video games.

I've mastered the art of parallel parking – by always choosing a spot three blocks away.

I have a Ph.D. in procrastination – I'll tell you about it later.

I've never been good at small talk; I once started a conversation with a cactus.

I'm not afraid of failure; I've made it my comfort zone.

I once got rejected by a fortune teller, who said she couldn't see me in her future.

I asked my mirror if I was the fairest of them all, and it replied, 'Well, at least you're consistent.'

I tried to be a cool kid once, but my mom said I peaked at the ultrasound.

My idea of a fun night is staying in and organizing my sock drawer.

I took a selfie and thought Snapchat had a 'remove all imperfections' filter on by default.

I have a face for radio and a voice for a silent movie.

I don't need a Fitbit to track my steps – I already know I'm not going anywhere.

I tried to do a cartwheel the other day and ended up with a concussion.