My Love Machine is tough. It’s built like a tank. At night I’m romantic and so Sun Tzu I’m Moon Tzu. Come, let me make you howl.

I killed my clone and I hid his body behind every mirror I’ll ever step in front of. I’m always surprised to see him, and I never fail to brush his teeth or gaze at...

If my name were Oscar, I’d want to be an actor and win my namesake award and take back my identity.

One brick is not a wall. Unless you’re an ant, and then it’s not only a wall, it’s a building—a building that has no doors, windows, or people in the form of managers that I’d...

My facial features smell as rugged as a rose looks. Isn’t my nose the most romantically smelling thing?

yes” in eyes. Except when I blink. Blinking is definitely a no action.

I want to invent a portable sink. It won’t be small, but it will be the size and shape of a car. (Best not to park it in your kitchen).

On my first date with Agatha, I wore tight green Spandex, which made my skinny legs look like asparagus. Knowing no heterosexual woman could resist such a temptation, I set out to seduce her.

The reason I rob nursing homes is because the residents in nurseries don’t have any wealth yet to steal. How can I steal from babies? What do you think I am, a Central Banker?

We have no secrets from each other, though sometimes I wish some things were more hidden. What’s more transparent than invisible?

I won’t be lulled by the lullaby, when what waits after is eternal sleep.

Aside from criminology, I’d say archaeology has the highest body count.

I sprained my ankle. I was asleep at the time. I rest restlessly.

Love smells like a flower in bloom. A flower that’s sitting on a pile of steaming feces.

Love tip # 29: Increase your chances of getting to second date by not having stinky garlic breath during the end of the first date. Especially if you’re dating a vampire.

Everyone in the world ages at exactly the same rate and time. We’re all getting older in unison.

I had a dream about you. I smiled and you waved, and it’s unfortunate that neither one of these gestures was directed at each other. The person I was smiling at was the same person...

It’s very hard to whisper in your own ear. Love is an art, but as an artist, I guess I’m no Van Gogh.

I can spot a polka dot dress from hundreds of circles away.

I hear what you say in what you don’t say, you see, because I’m a Helen Keller kind of communicator. Love is just as visible as invisible.

Sales is the art of canvasing a field, framing a problem, and painting a solution. But you can’t go Van Gogh on a deal. You’ve got to use both your ears.

Two bricks, parallel and horizontal, equals an equal sign.

Surrealist Tip # 7: Sleep through numbers 1-6. Write down your dreams while you sleep, sleep as fast as you can, but try not to get a ticket—and don’t let the honking of other drivers...

I had a dream about you. We were shoveling dollar bills and used diapers and laughing like children. I was dancing like I had a fog machine in my pants, and I did, which is...

The Road To Serfdom is about capitalism. That’s why on the side of that road you’ll find me, in a kiosk, selling ankle chains and handcuffs.

If you were to ask me the best time of day to fall in love, I’d say, “Now.” But you’d also have to remember to factor in the fact that my watch is eleven minutes...

I had a dream about you. You had just died, and I was debating putting your body into either a coffin or a shoebox. My decision was based solely on spatial concerns, so I chose...

I would hate to see seventeen people with monosyllabic names like Mike or Ann die, but if they did, and you wrote down all their names in groups of 5-7-5, you’d have one tragic haiku.

I can’t tell you how much I love kissing ass. Especially wealthy, cellulose-stippled ass. But I’ll smile as big as a personified yellow circle and assure the hiring manager that I was born to serve....

I had a dream about you. You wondered if there were any more honest men left in the world, and so did I, because I worked for the government, and if there were any honest...

I fish better than any fish alive.

I guess I should be thankful. Full of thank. But what is thank? I can’t eat thank, so I know my stomach isn’t full of thank. I can’t smell or breathe thank, so I know...

I had a dream about you. We were almost omniscient, seeing all the problems in this world. We noticed the scratch on my bumper, the ding in my passenger-side door, and the bloodstains in the...

I stood under the umbrella for hours before I folded it up and started walking. Umbrellas can block the sun, shield the rain, and if you flip an open one over, it can also be...

You don’t need brass knuckles to discover if a man has a glass jaw. All you need to do is stick his face in a dishwasher, and then check for water spots.

Pornography was not meant to be looked at. Pornography was meant to be read—on Braille-embossed condoms.

A car is a couch with wheels. My windshield wipers don’t work, so I’ve decided to stop watering my living room carpet. Honk if you want coffee, and I’ll pour you an umbrellaful.

My cat’s favorite sport is economics, and his favorite player is Ben Bernanke. But it’s just too violent for me to enjoy.

If you think the human body is beautiful, you haven’t met my uncle Melvin. His cam session starts at 6:00 if you wanna see.

Midgets smell like small, and I’m in the mood for a medium, like a large coffee from Starbucks.

manhole cover” is.

Last night I snuck an orchestra into the elevator at my apartment. We made elevator music history until Marvin got his oboe caught in the door and Mrs. Hoffstead started singing “Yes We Have No...

Her name was Ashley, but I called her Ash, because she looked like the burnt remains of a cigarette. But she smelled like coffee, and I thirsted for her affection.

We were young and in love. Well, at least I was young. I was fourteen and she was ninety-four. She tried to act like she never remembered we were dating, probably due to her dementia.

If anybody can appreciate fine music, it’s me. I mean who else can hit multiple octaves with their armpits?

Coffee and Saturday go together like me and Suzy McKloozy went to prom together. We didn’t, and they don’t.

If I had a face like a clown mask, I’d be concerned people would see my face, associate me with a bank robbery, and then I’d be forced to kill them.

I remember my first cell phone number still. I may call it and ask to speak to myself from eight years ago. If they say I have the wrong number I’ll tell them, No, right...

Don’t lift my words without permission. It might lead to a hernia.

There are red splatters all over my shirt. Is that spaghetti sauce—or a murder stain? Somebody go look for my mother-in-law, and if you find her, let me know so I can move the body...