My mother always told me not to pick my nose, so I’m going let the plastic surgeon decide what my new nose will look like. I’m hoping he makes it look like either a Tiffany...

You can’t help who your parents are or aren’t. My parents aren’t—they don’t exist and have never existed.

A blanket really makes the bed. Good thing too, because I never make the bed.

I bought a faucet, but water wasn’t included. That’s like when you buy my love—it’s dirty and used, but soap isn’t included.

Meow.

I’ve always wanted to kill someone by stealing their sound. If you’ve got no sound, you’ve got no voice. And it’s impossible to scream with no voice. So it’s like murdering a mime, only with...

Alcohol is a crutch, for people with liquid legs. Our first date went swimmingly, like Michael Phelps mining for gold. 1849 just called me, and it wants its Levi’s jeans back. If you help with...

Since my love is so foggy, I could never date a woman named Misty. Or Steve, because that’s my dad’s name, and that’d be strange.

I worry about identity theft. What’s to stop somebody from cloning me to drain the cash from my bank account? And it’d be just as easy for my clone to pretend to be me as...

I spent New Year’s Eve tweezing my nipple hairs. If I were any more romantic, I’d be a Nicholas Sparks novel.

Let’s start a new family.

I’m afraid of fear, men named Raef, and palindromes.

I’ll bet you make love like an orca whale sings opera. How do you make love? Bjork Orca asked me. Like an orca whale sings opera, only with more wetness, more shattered glass, and less...

I gave my girlfriend a gallon of my semen and a minivan and told her to fill it up with kids. Big mistake! I should have given her a bus.

Wow! This was one advanced society.”

I make love like I make coffins—with my bare hands, alone in my garage. On sale through Thursday—Buy One Funeral, Get A Second One Free!

A fly with an elephant on its back would give the illusion of a flying elephant, if that fly were powered by my love for you.

Love is like a door—it’s either open or closed. Either that or it’s both—open to others, but closed to you.

I spend a lot of time trying to not be me. So much so that I have become who I’m not.

I’m not flat broke. I’m a little hilly.

She forgot my name, so either I’m not important or she has amnesia. I wonder how long she’s suffered from dementia.

There is nothing more romantic than candles and flowers, except candles that smell like flowers and flowers that can be burned, as they flicker light while you dine alone and ponder how much of a...

The dollar isn’t worth its weight in gold, and the pound isn’t worth its weight in ounces.

All I need is your love. And money.

My name is Sam (my name is Am), and I am my own fan. I’m a clone of Jarod Kintz, and he supports my message.

Capitalist cycle of profit. The rancher sells a cow for profit. The butcher sells cuts for profit. The restaurant sells meals for profit. And the patrons spend money for profit.

To treat everyone equally is offensive, because it fails to recognize anyone as an individual.

A no has a different frequency than a yes, and a maybe is all vibration, oscillating between no and yes. My favorite answers have no movement.

Love can make a flower more fragrant, a blue sky bluer, and an empty bank account emptier. I should probably sign up for another credit card.

Growing up, I used to practice Invisibility Technique Number Twelve, which I took from the Book of Orafoura. IT#12 simply states: Act like a tree and hope your opponent can’t see the trees for the...

I sleep on my side. And if you’re not on my side, you’re against me.

Love and I have been a duo since empty banana peel.

Male or female, if my name were either Don or Dawn, I’d be up at sunrise to celebrate the glory that is me.

I’m a sound sleeper. Every time I hear a sound I wake up. Sometimes I envy Helen Keller.

We were just kids, what did we know about love? I knew I loved her, and she knew she didn’t love me. Turns out we were both wrong.

Feathers blowing in the wind is no more a bird than a pile of crumpled up receipts from champagne, chocolate, and flower purchases is a true indication that a man loves a woman.

I messed around once with a woman named Twice. But it won’t happen a third time.

I tried picking my nose once, but I was too indecisive. I would tell you I love you, but I can’t decide if maybe I’m not really in love with your clone.

A string of burglaries is a crime necklace. Everything I have can be stolen except love, because I give it all away.

Pride must be a summer thing, because it “comes before the fall.

Love is an intense flickable mystery, like a booger.

Love is a four-letter word. So is glue, only it isn’t as sticky. And I must admit, I still eat it all the time.

Cut to the chase.” When I’m exasperated with all the verbal running around and skirting the issue, the last thing I want is more chasing. Let’s cut to the caught.

I love favors, because a favor is, instead of me doing something or paying you anything, why don’t you do it for me for free?

I’ve got a great body. It’s got four wheels under it and I drive it to work. I would give you a ride to work, but what am I, a camel? No, I’m the Love...

She didn’t say it, I only thought she said it. So really it was my thought, my words, and not hers. How could I confuse “I love you” with “May I take your order?

I loved all the words in his book—just not in the order he arranged them, or the frequency with which he used them. To improve his work, I’d combine the words in a different way...

She had sexy legs. They were attached to her torso. Or maybe those were her arms.

It’s true, I can’t make you love me. But I can refuse to let you out of your cage.

I am a social outcast, shunned by society. Nobody ever invites me to parties. My own birthday avoids me, and only comes around every two years.