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

English isn’t my first language—gibberish is.

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.

My goal is to have the most and the best of what I desire. And since I desire clones, I have to be the best me first.

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).

I want to share my thoughts with you. Press your forehead firmly against mine, and let my mind transfer to yours. You won’t receive love, because that’s a feeling, and best communicated with a kiss.

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.

Something’s different about Mr. Different. The same can’t be said about Ms. Same. The two would make the best lovers, but that’s impossible, because I’m the best lover.

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.

If somebody’s a jerk and says something nasty, be a bigger jerk and say something kind and walk away.

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.

Respect is something that should be earned, like eyebrows shaped like windshield wipers in a stormy arcade evening. I like my respect with lots of elbow room and melted cheese on top.

Quiet night. Silence at full capacity. Noiselessness is spilling over like a coffee cup full of jock cock. In a contact sport I’ve got to protect my genitals.

I want to merge running a marathon and doing a handstand into one action. It will look similar to how I’d make love to a mannequin.

Four walls don’t make a home. Neither does having a roof over your mouth.

My favorite snack is vagina. The only thing I hate is unwrapping all that saran wrap.

Bricks could be used like trophies. And if we give them to everyone, just for participating, then collectively we could build a big House of Emptiness.

Based on the questions we both answered, we’re a 0% love match. That means we’re 100% compatible, once I enlighten her to the correct perspective on life.

It’s dark at night, yet people still drive. So I don’t see why people get so upset that I drive blindfolded during the day.

I whirled in the room like a tornado wearing a tracksuit. I wasn’t wearing a tracksuit, but I did have a smirk like a zipper. I loved her like my fly was open to criticism.

You tell me you love me, but I’m not sure you know what love is, or how fast it flies, or how much it resembles a UFO, or what kind of weapon you’d use to...

I’m the sort of guy who will accept blame, if it means being singled out as honest and honorable, and there’s a chance I’ll be rewarded.

A brick could be used for good, or for evil. The Brick of Creation, or the Brick of Destruction. While you’re deep in thought, contemplating which one you’d rather use, I’ll be over there looting...

I often think about a life of crime. But alas, politics isn’t for me.

Trying to resist my love is like trying to hold back a tsunami with a surfboard. My advice is to take up boogie boarding.

There’s not a person alive who is ugly. Now dead people, they disgust me.

Stairs, are they going up or are they going down? They’re so confusing! If love were a physical thing, it would be stairs.

A blanket could be used as a shield, in a fight with a cold shower. I know, because I won that battle this morning, only I wielded a sword—and an erection made of sleep.

But back to the coffee. I was here on a mission. I just spent nearly five bucks I didn’t have for some coffee concoction that tasted like the charred remains of Hitler’s soul, and I...

She was washing all the dishes by hand, so I bought her a machine. I bought her a lawnmower. That’s what you do when you’re in love.

A blanket could be used like a cat, if it were furry and purred.

This is what I believe to be the progress of a writer. You write 10 things, of which one of them will be great. You then write 11 things, of which two of them will...

He said he came in second place, so I assumed there were only two competitors. But you never know with love, there may have been a third party involved.

So you went from one reader to two readers?” you’d be absolutely correct. And after I had congratulated you on your keen guess, I’d thank you for being 50% of my reading base.

My nickname isn’t Scarface—it’s Scarf Ace. I make knitted neck warmers like I make love—one grandmother at a time.

Samuel Clemens.

A tree with red leaves is like an old man with gray hair. Likewise, my love for you was blue, but now it’s orange, and that’s a compliment.

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Stomach.” I wrote it with alphabet soup, and then edited it with a can of chicken noodle soup.

I removed all the doors to our love, so you can’t lock yourself away from me. But I didn’t stop there. I also replaced the doors with metal detectors, so I could fondle you more...

I am the coffee Randolph in your zebra escapade. Drink of me as you would any other time you swallow caffeinated saliva.

I am the washing machine of love. And if you have no idea what I mean, maybe it’s time to let some laundry into your life.

There’s nothing more important than literary merit, and that’s why I not only created an award—the Julius Caesar Author of the Year Award—but I nominated myself as the first recipient. You can’t always wait for...

I want to laugh hysterically into a bucket of water, have my humor imprinted on each water molecule and then drink the funniest drink ever.

Sometimes I ask myself, “Do I have the courage to do the right thing when it matters most?” And that answer, I’m afraid, is silence.

If I were stranded in the woods with nothing to eat but nuts, berries, and the complete works of Allen Ginsberg, I’d eat the latter first, because at least the nuts and berries might be...

Yesterday I complained of chest pains. My cat scratched my nipples.