I find honesty to be a rare thing—in politics.

What’s the opposite of start? Would the average person think stop or finish? The answer may reflect the difference between a winner and a loser.

A blanket could be used to trap and contain love. I’ve tried other stuff, like a Ziploc bag, a can of tuna, and even a dead cat’s stomach, but nothing seems to be able to...

To some dogs I don’t like cats, to some cats I don’t like dogs, and to some people I don’t like. Mostly the people I don’t like are lawyers, lobbyists, and politicians.

If you share your soup, I’ll share my wisdom. I brought a spoon, but did you bring a pen? How are you going to take notes, you fool!

A brick could be used to grow your annual income by a factor of four. What, you don’t believe me? Are you calling me a liar?

I want to write a book called Kissing Kissinger. It won’t be about kissing, Kissinger, or even politics. It’ll be about radiator fluid, and all the health benefits you can enjoy from chugging it.

If anger were money, only a fool would greedily save it up. And a wise man would let it slip out of his heart like change slips out of his pants pockets.

Doors open up for you when you work hard. Doors also open up for you when you walk with a limp and act gimpy.

Too much much is a dangerous thing. But not as dangerous as danger itself.

I am Vigalig the Destroyer. Except during the day, and then I am Gigalig the Giggler.

Love can come shooting out of nowhere, much like semen shoots out a penis. Too many lives come to an end—and begin—from random shootings.

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

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.

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.

I wish art was like money in that the more I made, the more interest it developed and plentiful it became. Money makes money, and if art made art, there’s no prison in this country...

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

Rather than demolish an abandoned warehouse, why not just cover it with graffiti and call it art?

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.

In a dream, in her head means in my head, as I have unrestricted access to her thoughts and the innermost parts of her body.

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

I had a dream about you. Half the people wanted to kill me, and half the people wanted me as their President. It was up to you whether I lived or reigned, and you made...

This is my logo for Bethany

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

I had a dream about you. You introduced me to a clock, and I’m right handed, so I didn’t know which clock hand to shake, the hour or the minute. So I chose instead to...

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 had a dream about you. You whispered in my ear, and I couldn’t quite hear what you said because Beethoven was being deaf too loud in the corner of the room. I thought you...