Love is like a portable lamp/sex toy. The world calls those flashlights, but I’m much more romantic.

A brick could be used to show support for your favorite team. They want to crush their opponents, and if you’ve got the arm strength and accuracy, you should do everything in your power to...

I don’t have a blue-collar job. It’s more of a green collar, because of all the yellow sweat stains mixing in.

Sometimes I get depressed about my age. In March I’ll be 26. If man weren’t measured in numbers, but rather letters, I’d be turning Z. And then I’d be dead.

A blanket could be used to cover my couch. Nobody should see that I constructed my sofa on the bones of my ancestors.

I make love like a flower sings. That’s hyperbole, because flowers don’t sing—they only play the guitar.

After I’m dead, I want to ghostwrite my autobiography.

In the interview I was told that I’d be replacing Robert, who was a robot. The company thought they could save some money and automate the front desk position, because they didn’t have to pay...

Death is coming—but hopefully not before old age, decrepitude, and senility.

If love is free, I can afford it. Still, I’d much rather steal it.

I have thought carefully on how to leave this world, and I have concluded that I should exit the same way I entered: through a vagina. But not my mother’s.

I don’t just have one mustache, I have two. You can hardly notice them, though, because I wear them in place of my eyebrows, which I shaved off and donated to charity. I’m just a...

Oh great, the retirement capital of the world. I’ll be dead within a decade.

I love giving love. The more I give, the more I have to give.

Me: On time. Women: Late. Death: Early.

I had a dream about you. The lettuce in my sandwich was crunchier than your conversation, and all I could hear when you spoke was myself chewing. You made such a tasty conversation that I...

The best part about love is it’ll still be around long after I’m dead. That’s also the worst part.

I’m a door-to-door salesman. I sell doors. If I can’t knock on yours, because you don’t have a door to knock on, I know you’ll be interested in what I’m selling.

I’m willing to die for my beliefs, but over the course of a lifetime and not all at once right now.

I’m not built for sales. I’m built for building things.

A fish called Gilbert. But I just call him Gil to save some breath, so I can spend more time underwater petting him like I used to do to grandpa before he drowned.

I can see myself in my teacher’s eyes. I look like a pupil.

What is life without death? That’s like asking what is peanut butter without jelly? Or a baseball game on TV and changing the channel? Or government without taxes? Actually, I like those last two.

There’s fool’s gold—pyrite—and then there’s fool’s gold—gold owned by idiots willing to trade it for worthless dollars.

Son, I’m dying,” where I visualize the day my estranged dad calls me out of the blue to tell me he is dying, and in as many ways as possible I’ll offer up various responses...

My #love stories have happy endings, because I stop the tales before dejection, dementia, and death occur.

I heard God in the silence. I recognized his voice precisely because it was inaudible.

Men are the fleas in the gray beard of God, and I’m just itching to meet Him.

A woman I had sex with is carrying my child, because God has made it so that my hands are full. They’re full of hope for the future.

When I was a little boy, I used to work in a sweatshop. We made deodorant.

This is my logo for Bethany

I am the Magic Chicken of Desire. Just add water. And a brick and a blanket.

Coffee is the anti-sleep, and I drink it like I eat ice, because I’m thirsty—and hungry for alertness.

A blanket could be used to attract a potential mate. I’ve already got my mate. I bought her in a mannequin store (she was on sale).

I drew a portrait of an invisible man on a nice canvas, because that’s all you see. Oh, and I used a nice frame. I think that’s important. I believe the best art uses the...

The best part about being kidnapped is being blindfolded and getting kicked into the trunk of a car. Boy, normally I have to beg my friends to treat me that well.

A blanket could be used as a Portable Night Generator. Just stretch it over your head, blocking your eyes from the sun in the sky, and voila! Nighttime.

By challenging the notion of what art is, Duchamp became a great artist. Also, Duchamp was a champion of Men’s Bathroom Attendants everywhere.

Nothing is and isn’t; nothing is and isn’t—nothing itself is, and at the same time, nothing isn’t.

A blanket could be used as a TV screen. How? No—why? Even better—why not? Why not wrap yourself up in your favorite TV shows and let the screen warm your body and soul?

I had a dream about you. You invited me to a picnic, so I brought two bottles of mustard—one for me, and one for the guy who always holds your leash. When I got there...

I want a trophy wife. I’ll keep her on the shelf next to my future Nobel peace prize. (I plan on inventing a gun that shoots love, not bullets.)

A blanket could be used to stop terrorism. Unless that terrorist has a small knife, or really sharp teeth, and is able to chew through the cloth separating him from our American freedom.

I had a dream about you. You had a wheelchair and I had a wheelbarrow, and together we made love the way the Panama Canal should have been made. We dredged up a lot of...

After a long day of screaming at the trees, I smell like a skyscraper. Would you care to ride on my elevator shaft?

A blanket could be used to mimic the mating call of my crumpled-up clone. Isn’t silence seductive?

I had a dream about you. The stars in the constellations lined up, the portals between the heavens were opened, and you were looking for a blood sacrifice to make the trip. And I was...

Mainstream news wants to keep you as a useful idiot. Instead, try being a non-useful idiot.

A brick is a duplicate. It is a physical copy of the idea for a brick. And what’s the big idea? A brick represents unity, a notion of hey, let’s build something together. Like a...

Trying to remember dreams is like trying to catch fog in a fishing net. The best time of day to catch something is night.