I fell in love with a beautiful girl, got her pregnant, and then I got married. I wonder whatever happened to that beautiful girl I got pregnant.

I want a trophy wife, because the only thing I’ve ever won is a fourth-place ribbon in the fourth grade. I’d treat her well, and I wouldn’t let her get too dusty on the shelf.

A brick could be used as a medallion on the end of a necklace, much like human testicles aren’t used. It’s a shame, really, because when you think of all things dangly, male genitals drop...

His clothes were clean, but his mustache was dirty. He must have used it as a brush to scrub his pants. I’ll bet his coffee tastes like freedom.

I put a basketball hoop in the trees, to help the squirrels and give them a nice net to store their nuts for the winter. But that’s just the kind of thoughtful guy I am.

A blanket could be used to battle the cold, but not battle an army with swords, bayonets, and other sharp objects (unless the opposing army is armed only with sharp words).

Yeah, I enjoy musical chairs. My furniture is deaf, so it gets rather interesting.

Just because I’m in love, doesn’t mean I think about her 24/7. No, I only think about her 23/7, because I need an hour a day to contemplate my mortality.

I need a bone saw—for the meatloaf I made for you, which looks suspiciously like a brick. The gravy is a blanket.

Ida Says ‘I do’ in Idaho.” It would be about a divorce in Washington State, and the protagonist would be a woman, though I’m not sure what her name should be.

I was gardening when I saw this snail/slug thing disguised as a leaf. Ah, isn’t fall a wonderful time to slowly fall in love?

I am nine fifteen feet tall. I mean nine fifteen time tall. I measure height with my watch.

With you, or in general?

Yesterday it was a hundred outside. It was fifty degrees, but the air was saturated with average and smog-like intellect.

Bricks could be used to pad the pockets of crooked politicians. Why stuff their greedy pockets with cash, when we could load them up with bricks and find out how good of swimmers they are?

Watching two cows have sex is the most magical experience at Cereal Land.

My couch is coffee-colored. I can thank Starbucks and clumsiness for that.

If you bring the blanket, I’ll bring the warmth.

I want to have sex at 120—pm and years old.

I hate when I’m at the grocery store and the person checking me out asks, “Paper or plastic?” It’s offensive. As if I’m going to sleep with her just because she has a clever pick...

A brick could be used to save humanity from mortality. Or at least save us from mortar.

I’m like a praying mantis, except not so devout. And I make love like a monk in meditation, which can often be confused with being asleep.

It’s not uncommon for me to be early to meetings by as much as a half a gallon. I guess the reason I am so punctual is because I have a very fluid concept of...

A blanket could be used to reveal hidden mysteries. Quick, get naked and get under, and I will illuminate the night.

If I’m having sex during an earthquake, would I get a refund on all those quarters I just put in the vibrating bed?

Security shouldn’t enforce, they should massage situations, without laying a hand on a guest.

A blanket could be used to cover Mt. Rushmore. But if you rush more, you’re going to rip the blanket in the same way that the very fabric of our democracy is torn.

Once you finish having sex, what is there to do but start over?

The patrons aren’t patronizing the store, and it’s not just the economy that’s keeping them out—it’s that nobody here likes to be patronized.

A brick could be used to communicate with the dead. I just spoke to Stalin, and he’s very pleased with the way America’s progressing, collectively, as a country.

I peel cats like I pet oranges. And I often snuggle with watermelons, sometimes with the intent of making love.

Competitively, I’m looking for the edge. I need to shave off inefficiencies and get rid of this Beard of Mediocrity.

Governments are nothing more than elaborate Rube Goldberg apparatuses, operating with absurd inefficiency. Why walk ten steps when you can make it there in a hundred?

When I heard footsteps and saw nobody, I knew I was seeing a ghost. Seeing the invisible is like dreaming about drinking coffee to wake up, and that’s why I’ve never made love in the...

Before job interviews, I think: What color tie best represents me as a person this company would be interested in?

When I was two, a year was half of my life. It must have felt like forever. But when I’m 99, a year will whiz by. Life will go fast, even if I probably go...

Francis Bacon has the most delicious last name ever, followed closely by Johnny Scrambledeggs. I make love like those two guys make breakfast out of family reunions.

There’s always something to talk about, even if you talk about how there is nothing to talk about. Of course, I’m talking about love.

I have this friend—you don’t know him—but— -Is his name Molloway? -No. -Oh. I don’t know anybody named Molloway, so that’s why I was asking.

The pain I felt when I lost my glove was nothing compared to the pain I felt losing my hand as well.

A bartender is a Keeper of Secrets. Drunk, senseless, useless secrets.

I’ll wear a fork on my head, and if anybody wants a job, they can eat salad off my scalp.

Is it easier to get you to do what I want with a fist to your face, or a gentle pat on the back and a handshake? Let this be a lesson in power.

My nickname in high school was Catch 22. Not because I was a walking dilemma, but because I had 22 catches freshman year. The interesting part was that I didn’t play football, but that’s just...

I make love like I ride my two-seater unicycle—slowly. If you feel unstable, you can hang on to my handlebar mustache.

Knocking on a door is so violent. Talk on the door. Try to get it to open up through communication, not violence.

I want to move to a ghost town and try to sell the population bodies to dwell in.

I was too late to be early. Good thing I was on time. And though my I love you was said at the right moment, my aim was off and I hit the wrong person.

The girl of my dreams got married to someone else. But that’s OK. I don’t need her beside me to keep her locked in the dungeon of my heart.

Every time the wind blows I think of her. I wonder if I could generate electricity off my yearning. Maybe a mind wind farm of some kind. Hopefully I could provide enough power for all...