All my best writing was written before 1982, and then a significant event happened to me: I was born.

In a bookstore you can find me in the romance section, because I’m not a lover, I’m a reader.

How am I? I would be good if I weren’t stuck at work. I work at a glue factory.

Writer’s block, I just drove around it four times. All my favorite writers live there.

It doesn’t take a hurricane to blow out a birthday candle. Let this be a lesson in love—and cake etiquette.

Like eggs, I’m scrambling to get ahead in this economic depression.

Writing is hard, but I don’t want to kill myself trying to write. Not unless I’m writing a suicide note.

Most scars are invisible. Damn transparent knives. Does anything cut deeper than love? I need to get some new body armor.

I go to networking events because what else am I going to do? I’ve already finished my daily planning for how to take over the world.

I could write from anywhere, including the moon, provided I had a pencil and not a pen.

The moment I heard her name I fell in love. Of course I fell in love with the wrong name, so I made her legally change her name to match that of my love interest.

May you fall on a fork and get eaten by a cannibal.

Thanks, man, I appreciate you noticing me.” I was upset when he didn’t offer to buy me coffee.

Love knows no boundaries. I wish I would have known that before I hired a cartographer to map out my romantic territory.

My father says I have a knack for business. And he should know, because he’s been bankrupt several times.

In a blind taste test, nine out of ten Helen Kellers preferred Blue Ribbon Coffee to Starbucks. The tenth Helen Keller, well, she claimed she didn’t hear the question.

Laughter is the sound of the soul dancing. My soul probably looks like Fred Astaire.

In business I play hardball, because softball is for high school girls. People don’t know I used to be a pitcher. I was full of water, until my ex wife poured it all out.

I’m an open book—an open book I’m still writing and editing. My book is a romance novel, sort of like The Secret.

cat” in category. And not only do I put it there, but I pet it too.

I hid my grief well. (Hint: it’s in the basement)

The ChairI’m writing to you, who made the archaic wooden chairlook like a throne while you sat on it.Amidst your absence, I choose to sit on the floor,which is dusty as a dry Kansas day.I...

There are whiskers in my soup, and my spoon smells like my cat’s ass.

I’m building a hot air balloon out of my love for you. I’m starting with the hot air, and then I’m going to surround that with saran wrap, because after all, I’m only using leftovers.

If I walked in on two of my clones having sex, I’d think it was gay, incestuous, and just plain rude to have not invited me.

I want to read the employment section of the Bible. I think it’s simply called Job.

The best part about vomiting is that right after you do, you can continue eating.

I went to a fire sale. I brought a bucket of water, and boy did I make a splash.

Maybe I could hear better if my ears weren’t flipped inside out. Unlike a cat’s ears, you can’t tell mine are flipped over. But they must be, because I only seem to listen to myself.

When there’s no more food, only the anorexics will be amped up. And I’ll be there to drink up that excitement, because eating all that food made me thirsty.

In 1901, Jacksonville burned down in a fire, killing only seven people. Well, the fire killed four people, and I murdered the other three.

It was raining cats and dogs. My clothes were saturated with meows and barks.

My love is self-contained, like chips in a bag. Don’t eat it all at once.

Wow! Who is that sexy woman she’s standing next to?

Well, isn’t writing a sport? If you’re doing it right, and you have a deadline, you should be sweating.

I brush my teeth like they are gray cumulonimbus clouds, and I floss like I fish. Can I offer you a small piece of salmon?

Who is this guy taking care of my oral hygiene?

Great Listener Seeks Mute Woman.

I dance for a living. At the early bird special you can find me—doing the worm.

For me to enjoy a salad, I need the right dressing. Vodka is salad dressing, right?

I need a Caution: Slippery When Wet sign, because I just spilled my ego all over the floor.

To most people, if you’re muttering, you might as well be speaking a foreign language. I should know, because in college I took two years of muttering.

I make love like a leprechaun, and I cuddle like a rainbow—after a shower.

My father sacrificed his life for our family when I was growing up. He was one of the bravest, wisest, and most unselfish goats I have ever known, and I will miss his cheese dearly.

I made plans out of hope, expectation, desire, and duct tape, and I broke those plans with my bare hands.

On cloudy days I just want to raise my arm up, stand on my toes, and screw a light bulb into the sky. Don’t worry, my light bulb is energy efficient—it runs on solar power.

Even when we’re old, I’ll still look at you with the same eyes. (Who else’s eyes am I going to look at you with?) My love for you is Louis Braillesque.

Don’t be selfish and keep your thoughts locked in the cage called your skull. Free your mind, release your thoughts into the world, and free yourself in the process.

If I share your bottle of beer, I’ll take the left side.

I’m half chameleon, half camouflage, and wholly in love with you, though you’d never be able to see it.