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’ve had 24 girlfriends in my life, and all of them occurred in the same two-day evening.

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.

I bought a big brown stuffed animal. You know, for dinner.

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.

I brush my teeth with a leg of fried chicken, and gravy is my toothpaste.

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.

I could scarf down a scarf faster than I could eat any other throat warmer, with the possible exception of your clenched hands around my neck.

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...

Don’t eat in the dark. My brand of cat food comes with a light bulb in the can.

My #love stories have happy endings, because I stop the tales before dejection, dementia, and death occur.

Though my stomach is only the size of a pea, I could eat two politicians’ brains.

I heard God in the silence. I recognized his voice precisely because it was inaudible.

I lick each envelope I mail, so I can taste the closure and anticipation of travel. If they tasted like ice cream, they’d match the love letters inside.

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

I’m quoting my clone, because he quoted me thinking if I said it, he said it. He thought he was quoting himself when he quoted me. So in effect I’m quoting myself quoting myself, with...

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.

My headboard has bars, like a jail cell. Sometimes I’ll be asleep and think I’m in prison, and I’ll hear my alarm clock go off and feel like I’m out on parole. Only then does...

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

This guy’s got a mustache that’s made for TV. I’ve got a mustache that’s made for radio. I keep it zipped up quiet in my pants, next to my cigar.

This is my logo for Bethany

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

In light of the darkness, I see no reason to have no reason.

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’m so silent I can hardly hear myself think. But that’s why I bought the scissors and the condom.

The best part about being kidnapped is being blindfolded and getting kicked into the trunk of a car. Boy, normally I have to beg my friends to treat me that well.

A blanket could be used as a Portable Night Generator. Just stretch it over your head, blocking your eyes from the sun in the sky, and voila! Nighttime.

I crammed six years of silence into sixty seconds, held frozen and firm with an icy stare.

Nothing is and isn’t; nothing is and isn’t—nothing itself is, and at the same time, nothing isn’t.

A blanket could be used as a TV screen. How? No—why? Even better—why not? Why not wrap yourself up in your favorite TV shows and let the screen warm your body and soul?

I know she is going on vacation, so I knitted her a sweater. It matches the bathing suit I knitted her, and it’s as revealing as my feelings for her.

I want a trophy wife. I’ll keep her on the shelf next to my future Nobel peace prize. (I plan on inventing a gun that shoots love, not bullets.)

A blanket could be used to stop terrorism. Unless that terrorist has a small knife, or really sharp teeth, and is able to chew through the cloth separating him from our American freedom.

Last night the secrets of the universe were revealed to me, and they had nipples.

After a long day of screaming at the trees, I smell like a skyscraper. Would you care to ride on my elevator shaft?

A blanket could be used to mimic the mating call of my crumpled-up clone. Isn’t silence seductive?

When my internal voice goes external, and I’m in a noisy crowd, I can hardly hear myself think.

Mainstream news wants to keep you as a useful idiot. Instead, try being a non-useful idiot.

A brick is a duplicate. It is a physical copy of the idea for a brick. And what’s the big idea? A brick represents unity, a notion of hey, let’s build something together. Like a...

A blanket could be used to stop the bleeding. But dammit you’re going to have to hurry, before I bleed out all over the carpet.

We were in Paris. We were in love. We were with other people at the time and wouldn’t even meet for two years.

I put out the Greg Call, which sounds like a whistle-quack, and a few dozen Toms responded. The only time I need a Tom is tomorrow.

A blanket could be used to help my career. Things have gone cold in this economic depression, so anything to help warm things up would be most welcomed.

I keep my love in the fridge, next to my meat, because you simply can’t beat it.

A brick could be used to say hi to Pink Floyd.

Love is an empty bottle, and it makes my heart thirsty thinking how fast I chugged it