I talked so much about my product that I sold myself. I bought the very thing I was selling, and I think I overpaid.

After my first coaching experience, the field looked more like Gettysburg than a normal defeat. But it wasn’t that bad, as only about half my team lay dead, while the rest were merely dying.

I don’t like to celebrate my birthday, because I don’t like taking credit for others’ work—in this case, my mom and dad. Or possibly my mom and the mailman.

I need love. Here’s a list of other things I need: eggs, butter, flour, and sugar. I’m making a cake for the woman I love—and another one for my lover.

It’s a new subject to me, and I’m just starting to get confused. The middle is the muddle, and the end is enlightenment. The subject is love, and the end is death.

I’d like to write a screenplay about my grandpa, and I’d like my future grandson to play the part. Talk about a mindfuck!

I like to keep a shotgun in my room for protection. You know, just in case my apartment gets broken into by a pack of deer, which is something I’m constantly worrying about.

When love dissipates, it’s like dancing with daisies at midnight, and you don’t get easy at it when you’re deceased. And make no mistake, you will die before romance will.

Being an only child makes me the oldest child and the youngest child. And the middle child.

And out came an insult with the velocity of a whisper. But I could see I offended, so I zipped up my pants and left the wedding reception.

Funerals, Coffins, and Death. It’s not just a way of life; it’s also for breakfast. Yes, that is the new cereal I’m preparing to launch. Don’t mix it with milk. Pour it on formaldehyde.

My grandpa was a grandma robber. He stole two grandmas, both of them mine. His name was Rob.

If I knew what you’d do, exactly when you knew what you’d do, then I’d either be you or I’d be God. And we both know I’m not you.

I like to bunch words together to form new words, like “off” and “ice” to form “office.” But I have no idea what an office is, because I avoid work like the plague. Is office...

I talk about talking like I listen to listening—in a room with mirrored walls that makes me appreciate the infinity that is God.

Love rules the world. Like a tyrant.

I wonder if rooms in an insane asylum have Do Not Disturb signs for the doors. I should hope not, because knock or no knock, every occupant in those rooms is already disturbed.

I love you like my soul is not the moon. It’s brighter—and bigger.

I like my relationships like I like my eggs. Over easy.

Tickets are 40 bucks at the window, and 190 bucks if you actually go through the window to get them.

I want to be happy and sad at the same time. Yeah, I know it sounds sappy.

Like a boxer on a treadmill, I hit the ground running. It was my first time being in love, and if enthusiasm were a sport, I’d have been sponsored by Nike. Or Adidas, whichever offered...

I just designed the world’s most inefficient no. It’s modeled after a downward sloping maybe.

Sales is a hard way to make money, trying to convince people to willingly pay you for a product or service. I prefer making money the old-fashioned way, by extortion, like the government does.

A brick could be used as a trophy at your company’s annual award ceremony. It’s a way to save money while making pride and applause at the same time.

Hungry and thirsty? Soup solves both problems at once. My love for you is starved and dehydrated, and all I need is one spoon.

I gathered my courage like nuts and berries, I cautiously approached her, I waited for her to turn her head, and then I sprinkled them in her yogurt. Sometimes you just have to take a...

A brick could be used to help define your rigid beliefs. I put my beliefs to bed, along with the hooker I rented for the night.

You will love me or I will sentence you to life in prison.

We made love like steam meets mist. My memory is foggy, but I know I inhaled her essence like smoke.

A brick could be used in a heart transplant operation. And for just $25,000 more dollars, that brick could be switched with a real or artificial heart.

I’ll tell you what I can do, but I’ll tell you silently and invisibly, because honestly, there’s nothing I can do. And what I can do is love you.

In my dreams, my spare penis was decomposing in my closet, and to me it was a symbol of our love.

A brick could be crushed into powder, like cocaine, and snorted to stimulate the previous highs of the housing market.

My wife loves me for me, and hates me for her.

I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I chickened out, like a beef taco. The crunchy kind, not the soft shell.

A blanket could be used to store valuable information that will keep future generations warm overnight. And just so you know, it wasn’t me that farted in the blanket. That’s a bit too much information,...

I hear phonetically on the phone. Toiletries sounds like toilet trees to me.

I just yawned. Now that is exciting. Almost as thrilling as making love to me thirty minutes after I’ve fallen asleep.

A brick could be used as a Red Beard Replacement, for those of us who can’t grow facial hair, but desire the respect a beard brings.

When congratulations are in order, I like to wait until they’re out of order to offer a high five or enthusiastic pat on the back.

I want my words to illuminate like the sun, as I give my daily lecture on photosynthesis to my houseplants.

A brick is blocking my urethra. But it’s not painful, because my penis is just that big. Oh yes, it’s as big as this lie is.

I’m not in the City of Love, but I am in love. That’s why I look like I’m crazy, because being crazy is a prerequisite to being in love.

Weerd is a weird way to write weird, but seemingly more normal than weird. Also, hate is a weird way to write love.

Several famous people have licked my nipples. Well, indirectly. First they licked the stamps, and then I peeled them off the letters and stuck them on my nipples.

Noise soup. I just made it. Taste it with your ears.

In the future.” But how’d I know I’d show up, and not my clone posing as me?

A blanket could be used to create another way. There is no other way but to make another way. We simply must!

I am the Anagram of Love. I’m not evil, but I am evol. I guess this also makes me the Palindrome of Love!