I love like I’m thirsty. Can I offer you a tall glass of Sahara sand?
I’m a dog lover and sex addict. Those two things are unrelated.
Love is a banana. First you peel it, and then you roll on the condom.
I love full on, like 65 mph in a handicapped parking spot.
I had a dream about you. You looked like you, but you also looked like a mannequin. And I looked like me, but I also looked like a mannequin. Between the two of us, we were too fake even for Hollywood. And as such, we were forced to reside in Washington DC.
I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.
Love isn’t two matching unicycles. Love is a bicycle—and mine just got stolen.
I had a dream about you. At first you were a mannequin, and I was a fashion designer. Then, inexplicably, we switched roles and I became the mannequin. But instead of putting clothes on me, you laughed at my nakedness, and you sold me to the owner of a sex shop.
We made love like two people trying to make love like three people in the trunk of a car.
I am the Trolley of Love. Free rides before noon and after 11:58 am!