I read books so dry even a cactus couldn’t grow on them. But who cares? I’m not a farmer, I’m a thinker.

A brick could be used to squiggle your signature with. And while you’re in the autographing mood, why don’t you sign your name at the bottom of the lunch bill.

I’m getting gray hair in all sorts of crazy places. Like all over my carpet. It’s like I live in a nursing home, except without all the sex.

I know my kids are safe, because they’re still in my testicles. Can I fix you an omelet? I make them by hand?

My name is Mr. Brickton, and this brick, it weighs a ton.

You don’t need to have a fight before great sex. I can keep my cool and still bring the heat every time.

Sorry, we don’t serve your kind here.” And I’d have to agree. Serves them right for being so sleazy.

A brick could be used like ice cream. But hold up, hold up. Let me put a bowl under it before you start licking, or else you’ll drip brick all over my blanket.

I saw some kids at an elementary school, and I thought, I wonder if those kids are mine? Any of them—or all of them. It’s possible, because I love making love.

I want to make pants out of tuna fish, to accompany my cottage cheese thighs.

The government gave me four lighters, of which only three are functional. Employing their unemployment calculations, I guess this would mean that only 8% don’t work.

I make love like I make coffee. Tuesdays and Thursdays I offer free refills.

The easiest way to hide your gold is to disguise it as Spanish bullion and store it on the bottom of the ocean floor.

If all the centenarians formed their own country, they’d be both the youngest country in the world, and the oldest.

My girlfriend just had a baby. We’ve known each other for six months, so I’m pretty stunned to find myself becoming a father so soon. I hope the baby looks like me!

If love were a variety of dog, I’d want mine hot. I’d take my love with ketchup and mustard.

Love is a winding mountainous road. Do you have an extra unicycle and handlebar mustache I can borrow?

Spain is 4/5ths pain and 1/5th S. I drank that fifth, and I loved S.

She ordered beer all night, and I ordered root beer. She was drunk, and so was I—with love.

I’ve got hair in my mouth, because I replaced my teeth with my cat. This makes it more fun to pet my gums.

People are like puzzles. Especially interconnected people, like Siamese twins.

My voice is raspy, like Rasputin’s beard. My love is like a mustache hidden in a patch of armpit hair. Come, feel what I feel for you.

My amazing feat features shoes (and feet)—it’s how far I’d walk for love. Guess how far? However far it is from the point I ran out of gas to wherever she is, assuming she’s hanging...

I think Gummy Bears should be the universal symbol for peace, because peace leads to prosperity, prosperity leads to decadence, and decadence leads to diabetes.

Football is like a chess match—a chess match where you can beat the shit out of your opponent.

Bah, Alzheimer’s. Grandma wouldn’t be so forgetful if she didn’t always have dick on her mind.

She always looks like she’s about to break into laughter. He always looks like he’s about to break into her house. I don’t care what he takes, so long as it’s me who steals her...

I would rather make love than war, but only because condoms kill millions of lives more enjoyably.

You don’t need to windup the wind to keep it going. It’s the same with my erection. All you need is two AA batteries and one I love you.

She said she loves me. Not out loud, but in her mind she said it. I heard it with my heart, telepathically.

We made love like two sticks of butter melting in the snow. I mean freezing.

A good server knows how to be seen, yet remain invisible. I was a great server, and I achieved invisibility by never showing up for work. My boss ended up firing me, probably over petty...

Were you aware that my sister looks like my brother? They both look nonexistent.

Why is it called a flight of stairs? It should be called a walk of stairs.

Turn a pot into a hat in one easy step: put it on your head. I make love with the same sort of culinary innovation.

He was my distant cousin. Not only was he 50 miles away and 50 years away, but he was just very aloof.

Jacksonville welcomed the World Golf Hall of Fame with open arms and wallets in 1998. If you’re not familiar with golf, it’s a sport where you swing a stick at a ball, like baseball in...

I have a lot of love to give, because free samples are the best way to encourage sales.

I am the robot in the machine. I eat wires and circuits and I was raised by a single motherboard. I also enjoy my hamburgers with ketchup, mayonnaise, and #FFFF00 mustard.

If I had my clone take a test for me, it’s likely I’d misspell my own name. And I’m terrible at remembering people’s names—even if that person is me.

Raw vegetables leave me overjoyed with raw emotion. My love for her can best be summed up with one carrot and a cheese grater.

In 1948 fishing was outlawed in Jacksonville by decree of the king. But nobody, besides my grandpa, listened to him, because he’d been dead for centuries—the king, not my grandpa. My grandpa had only been...

I was born with a lazy eye. It didn’t define me as a person. It did, however, define me as a voyeur.

I’m late to dinner, but I’m early to being in love. I’m such a gentleman that I hold every door open—even if the guy sitting in the bathroom stall is protesting.

The best part about having children is being able to point at them and proudly proclaim, “Hey, I made those.

The birds fly south for the winter not because it’s cold, but because they have wings. Similarly, love has the ultimate flight pattern, and that pattern is plaid.

I knew something was there, precisely because I hadn’t found anything and the space seemed empty. That’s also how I’m searching for love.

I should invent a stationary bike/electrical generator/phonograph player, so that when the grid goes down I will have motivation to exercise for my nightly entertainment.

A tailor walks into a lawyer, and the bar says, “I like your suit.” And the tailor replies, “This morning I spotted a non-sequitur detective. Don’t worry, he didn’t follow me.

My book has no plot. Wait, yes it does—in the cemetery. It’s a love story where one character is dead, and the other is a dirty pervert.