I wasn’t very far away from figuring out the secret to love, no more than two miles or so, when my camel broke down and I got shot at by a pack of cigarettes.

I can’t sell sex for money, but what if I change sex’s name to food? Then can I sell it freely in the street?

Love is as old as time, though it is considerably more difficult to stuff inside a watch.

Water always flows downhill. So does my love. Are you prepared for a flood? You’d better build an ark.

I would have sex in the backseat of my car, but from back there, how would I be able to hit the brakes? Or steer the vehicle?

Love happens to some people, sometimes. Other times other stuff happens to other people. I’m a person like those people.

I just got a new windshield. Slowly I’m going to replace my way to a new car. I make love the same way, methodically and over the course of several months.

My bed’s comforter is yellow. It has to be to hide all the melted butter stains. I make love like microwave popcorn—only in half the time!

I arose like a rose, and this is how I knew I was in love. In the garden of life, I’m better off in your neighbor’s yard.

Somebody should merge motorcycles and toilets. You know, for the lover in all of us, just waiting to be released.

Life goal: Swim in a lake full of soup, and instead of bathing suits we’ll wear Ziploc bags while we make love like we’re feeding the homeless.

If I started yesterday, I’d be a master of tomorrow.

Noon yellow is needed to combat my inner albino. But I prefer spreading my shadow thin like mayonnaise. Ours is a nighttime love.

We made love like two tree branches in winter. We were naked and motionless.

A brick is a rust-colored blur of movement, caught in a moment, and transformed from motion into a physical object. Studying this brick would give scientists an insight into how fast I run.

I don’t like breakfast—I prefer fixslow. I eat it like I devour your love, and it may take time, but we can put our relationship back together. Just pass me the maple syrup.

I love coffee like I love making love. It’s like liquid sex, except you don’t want to spill it all over your crotch.

A brick could be used as a measurement of time. Yes, just think how stylish you’ll look with a brick duct taped to your wrist!

If swimming in gold were a sport, I’d be the Michael Phelps, and my winning would lead to more winning, as my gold made more gold.

I called security when I found out I’d lost my virginity, but after looking for it, they assured me nobody had turned it in. I’d better tell grandpa the bad news before he takes his...

Agatha was so tight-fisted she could squeeze a penny and strangle Abe Lincoln.

I’ll invite you to try my wedding. Free samples until Tuesday!

If there are two clones, one good and one evil, I can’t kill on sight alone. It’s the same with love. Some love hurts, and some love elevates, but as to which one is which,...

My brother was a great swimmer. He was as fast as a shark. Well, almost. It beat him by a half a leg’s length, right below the knee.

I got arrested for driving naked. I guess I shouldn’t have put four wheels, an engine, and a steering wheel on my bathtub. I’m a do-it-yourself kind of lover.

When I make love, I make a difference in at least one person’s life. (Limit one per purchase.)

She Bangs.” It won’t be about a sexually loose woman, but rather it will be a knock-knock joke.

My love is a cloud sound, silent as an orange flamingo. Too many swimmers have drowned while trying to fly, and there should be a law against making a law against that.

I just made a fan gun. Instead of shooting bullets, it shoots the breeze. Just doing my part to make a more peaceful, and cooler, world.

A blanket could be split in two—divided in half, like hereditary territory one inherits. And once you’ve got half the blanket, you’d better stay on your side of the bed—or else I’m going to tell...

Her hair was red, like a flame. And my penis was long, like a commercial break. Hey, hold the elevator!

I’ll carry Carrie like my hands are as empty as my heart. I never hold my own love.

I’ve learned to not let rejection bother me. How can it bother me, when all the people who’ve rejected me have been murdered, and their bodies smartly disposed of?

My clones better not wear invisible cloaks. How am I supposed to find myself as a person if I can’t even find my clones?

My love is a good neighbor—there is a fence around my heart. I’m not cold-hearted, despite having a touch of Frost in there.

I let go of her memory the moment I let go of her hand. She fell over 500 feet to her death.

A Dragon Rose is a flying flower that breathes fire. A relationship isn’t truly a romance if there isn’t a tiny element of danger involved.

I’m an only child, so logically I gave birth to my parents, because if it weren’t for me they wouldn’t be parents at all, they’d simply be a married couple. (Or maybe without me they...

Like the ocean I wave. Hello and goodbye are the same, when I talk with my hand.

I could fuck on my back like 4:44. But I don’t. I do it like 3:33.

When I have children I want an even number of boys and girls, and that’s why I want 15 kids—7 boys, 7 girls, and one hermaphrodite named Sam.

My fake mullet wig turns women on. Probably.

It’s me and you, or me and knitting. Don’t make me choose. Ugh, #love.

I put the hell in hello—especially when waving at my mother-in-law. If looks could kill, she’d wish she were Helen Keller.

I once inscribed the word “Ennui” backwards on my forehead, and I was so bored that I stared at it in the mirror for hours. And at the end of that time, I felt like...

In the spirit of slumber parties, I want to have a sleepover and invite only narcoleptics.

My son’s name will be Sonya, like his mother, whose name will be Dadya.

If artists often get famous posthumously, then there is only one thing for me to do—fake my own death. Or I could just wait for science to give me a clone, and kill him instead....

I just got circumcised, and to help the homeless, I’m going to make a tent out of my foreskin. But right now I’m offering free coffee if you haven’t got a place to sleep.

My children don’t even know my name, and it’s no excuse that they haven’t even been born yet.