I am the Today Monster, and I’m hungry for yesterday. And I’m thirsty for coffee, which is like drinking tomorrow.

The 27th letter has always been my favorite letter of the alphabet. But, then, I also love ghost stories, invisible beings, the supernatural, and Bigfoot. Just ask The Mythical Mr. Boo, who’s first name begins...

If somebody were to ask me what it means to me to be American, I’d respond, “It’s like eating scrambled eggplant with a dozen 1969 moons sunny side up at noon.” If they asked me...

I can do a week in a weekend. That’s not how efficient I am, that’s how little I work.

Hoping to get a head start on the next day, I eat breakfast the night before. That way I can sleep in until two in the afternoon.

Tiny Dancer” play on repeat, while I enjoyed the spectacle of a midget stripper dressed like jet fuel (Rocket Man).

So I just got a call from the hotel, and they want me to start work tomorrow. I’m excited to have a job, but bummed out about working.

I can’t marry a bisexual woman, because she might be having an affair with the same person I’m having an affair with. And it’s not affair to share.

What if a statue of me walked past my clone frozen in thought? Which one of the two would make a better quarterback than Geno Smith?

Losing your mind is preferable to losing your woman, because if you lose your woman you will also lose your mind, and then you’re left with nothing.

I’ve always wondered about people who live in their cars. I’ll bet for them ordering a pizza is kind of tricky. Should they have it delivered, or should they pick it up?

Love sounds like an elephant weighs. I know, because I’ve seen it with my own two nostrils. I’ve grown fat on the scent of Helen Keller’s memory.

This is a cat’s world, and man’s just allowed to share in it.

Have you ever wanted to be somebody else? Today I fantasized about being my own identical monozygotic twin. How cool would that be? I could both be me, and yet be someone completely different.

I want to sprint into her open arms, but I run as fast as two shoes tied together and thrown over a telephone wire. I’m like Roger Bannister, now that he’s in a wheelchair.

I make love like you wouldn’t believe. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so why don’t I show you?

I’m crazy in love. I’m just crazy.

I vacuumed my piano, hoping to soak up the last of the concertos. I should sell musical sponges, for the lover in the kitchen in all of us.

I have a memory like a baseball glove, so please, don’t toss me a basketball-sized rumination.

She moved her hands like crane claws as she spoke, trying to dig at the essence of what she was saying. It was the dirtiest I love you I’ve ever heard.

My neck size is about the size of both of my girlfriend’s clenched hands. They say strangulation is a crime of passion, and I say it’s the sign of romance in a relationship.

If I owned a t-shirt shop, I would honor Eli Whitney by putting his face on a t-shirt made from 100% cotton. FREE admission if you’re topless.

What’s said in silence is best viewed in darkness. I learned that while reading a bowl of Alphabet Soup.

I have returned, as prophesied.” Then I just stand there staring at them.

I’m feeling morass, when I should be feeling more ass. I can put my sadness behind me with what’s behind you.

A blanket could be used to suppress yawns. Just curl up in the technological wonder that is a blanket, lay your head back, and let the miracle of science cure your yawns.

Two guys, a goat, and a ghost: A love story based on true events that may or may not be false. Who doesn’t love a good goat story?

If a handicapped woman says she wants to be friends with benefits, I always ask her if that includes parking.

My love was green—new and alive. Her love was red—full stop. Occasionally and cautiously we’d meet in the middle at yellow.

For dessert I ate a desert. It was sandy, and so was the name of the woman I ate dinner with. She had a dry sense of humor, and that is why I wore a...

I eat fog soup (out of a can). You don’t think I make it fresh, do you? You don’t need a spoon or straw to enjoy it—you need a pipe to inhale it.

I’m the same as everyone in that I’m different from everyone. We are all unique, and therefore we are all the same.

I am not who I pretend to be, even when I act like myself.

You can have your cake, but you can’t eat it. You have to sit there and watch me scarf it down.

I remember the day coach decided to bench me. We were walking in a botanical garden.

I make love in half. But that’s because I’m much too romantic to refer to it as masturbation.

There should be a soup spoon on the end of fire truck ladders, because fires do nothing if they don’t warm up leftovers.

I caught a fish with a deep voice. It was a bass.

Be that as it may, it may be maybe, or it may be May, Bee.

There’s a hair in my food! Well, I did order all the cuddles I can eat. A buffet of sleep is how I describe my love to strangers on trains.

I dropped out of school in the fourth grade to work in a shoe factory before I took up farming. I grew salmon—on trees.

The fastest way for me to achieve self-improvement is with The Opponent Apparatus (my clone).

Inviting the invading army over for dinner, buffet style, is a bad idea. Especially when I just took a bath in the last of your mac and cheese.

A brick could be used to stop a bleeding wound. Though just between you and me, I’d prefer to be bandaged by a Band-Aid, a blanket, or a pair of lace panties (preferably red).

I invented an invisible machine to help you get to sleep. It only works after your eyes stay shut for a length of time. It’s also so quiet that you won’t hear it.

I’m about to cross a time zone, and I feel younger already. If I keep traveling west, maybe I can catch up to the love of my youth.

He wore red, white, and blue, but he didn’t look patriotic—he looked like a sloppily wrapped birthday present. But it’s not his fault. I tried to wrap him as tight as I could without restricting...

I just bought a bag of potato-chip-flavored air. I also bought a bed, but sleep wasn’t included. Thank God a cup of coffee is full of wakefulness.

Mark Twain’s Mustache—the World’s Greatest Facial Hair. Or Certainly Top Three, and No Lower Than Number Four.

But I’m not talking about now. Last Tuesday I could have killed you. Had you in the scope of my rifle, but I let you live. Now THAT was stupid.