Somebody should merge motorcycles and toilets. You know, for the lover in all of us, just waiting to be released.

A company with no advertising is like a car with no headlights—it runs smoothly during the day, when people are awake and shopping, and saves money at night, when people are asleep.

If I started yesterday, I’d be a master of tomorrow.

Noon yellow is needed to combat my inner albino. But I prefer spreading my shadow thin like mayonnaise. Ours is a nighttime love.

Courage is a commodity I sell in times of peace. But then my father was a chicken farmer.

A brick is a rust-colored blur of movement, caught in a moment, and transformed from motion into a physical object. Studying this brick would give scientists an insight into how fast I run.

I don’t like breakfast—I prefer fixslow. I eat it like I devour your love, and it may take time, but we can put our relationship back together. Just pass me the maple syrup.

Don’t keep me in the dark—let me take off my honorary Helen Keller blindfold and let’s make love like we have no senses except nonsense.

A brick could be used as a measurement of time. Yes, just think how stylish you’ll look with a brick duct taped to your wrist!

If swimming in gold were a sport, I’d be the Michael Phelps, and my winning would lead to more winning, as my gold made more gold.

My love is shaped like a dog whistle—the sound, not the thing. As a lover, I’m a fighter. But dogs have more bark than me—and so do trees.

Agatha was so tight-fisted she could squeeze a penny and strangle Abe Lincoln.

I’ll invite you to try my wedding. Free samples until Tuesday!

I’m selling a rainbow in a bowl (no spoon included). I’m calling it Love Soup, even though it’s nothing more than tap water.

My brother was a great swimmer. He was as fast as a shark. Well, almost. It beat him by a half a leg’s length, right below the knee.

I got arrested for driving naked. I guess I shouldn’t have put four wheels, an engine, and a steering wheel on my bathtub. I’m a do-it-yourself kind of lover.

The thing we have in common is we both love to make love. Maybe one day we can merge our mutual interest and make love to each other.

She Bangs.” It won’t be about a sexually loose woman, but rather it will be a knock-knock joke.

My love is a cloud sound, silent as an orange flamingo. Too many swimmers have drowned while trying to fly, and there should be a law against making a law against that.

A.

A blanket could be split in two—divided in half, like hereditary territory one inherits. And once you’ve got half the blanket, you’d better stay on your side of the bed—or else I’m going to tell...

Her hair was red, like a flame. And my penis was long, like a commercial break. Hey, hold the elevator!

If your breath smells like coffee, I might try to drink our conversation. Wake me up with the words you’re speaking.

I’ve learned to not let rejection bother me. How can it bother me, when all the people who’ve rejected me have been murdered, and their bodies smartly disposed of?

My clones better not wear invisible cloaks. How am I supposed to find myself as a person if I can’t even find my clones?

The future seems so crowded to me. All I see is me, me, me, me, me and a million other clones of myself.

I let go of her memory the moment I let go of her hand. She fell over 500 feet to her death.

A Dragon Rose is a flying flower that breathes fire. A relationship isn’t truly a romance if there isn’t a tiny element of danger involved.

3.5 billion men in the world all share one I love you. That’s why men rarely say it, because there is only one in the world for the whole gender to share and take turns...

Like the ocean I wave. Hello and goodbye are the same, when I talk with my hand.

I could fuck on my back like 4:44. But I don’t. I do it like 3:33.

In hospitality, people vacation where you live. And so when I stay home from work it’s like a double vacation.

My fake mullet wig turns women on. Probably.

It’s me and you, or me and knitting. Don’t make me choose. Ugh, #love.

I’m still at work. I’m also still at work (I’m trying to remain motionless until the end of my shift).

I once inscribed the word “Ennui” backwards on my forehead, and I was so bored that I stared at it in the mirror for hours. And at the end of that time, I felt like...

In the spirit of slumber parties, I want to have a sleepover and invite only narcoleptics.

Night—it’s the only thing that will cover up one of my black moods. Good thing my depression isn’t an every day kind of thing. It’s an after day thing.

If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do—fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead....

I just got circumcised, and to help the homeless, I’m going to make a tent out of my foreskin. But right now I’m offering free coffee if you haven’t got a place to sleep.

Love is all you need in this world. Well, at least until you die of thirst or you freeze to death.

It’s not how much you paid, but how much it would cost to replace it that’s important. What is the price of love?

I’m a dyslexic dancer. Instead of leading the women, I follow. Quick, cab driver, follow that woman!

Relationships are built on trust. If you don’t trust me, how can I ever hope to get close enough to steal your heart and sell it on eBay?

I eat soup with chopsticks—and straws. And I make love with the surgical precision of a sledgehammer.

so you suspect his death was a suicide.

The first step to running a successful business, is printing out pictures of all the luxury items you’re going to buy once you get rich.

I make love like Brett Favre threw his first pass as a Green Bay Packer—to himself. Obviously, himself is myself.

Don’t litter.

I told her I loved her, knowing she’d tell her I loved her and I wouldn’t have to tell her first face to face to see her reaction and feel rejection.