Hydrogenated and androgynous milky white love is all I have to offer you. Would you like me to pour it in your coffee, or directly into your soul?

I just recently figured out how mirrors work. Pretty cool. That guy always hungrily staring at my naked body was me!

When it comes to Schopenhauer, I think I need a To-Go box.

I want to make something of myself. I believe it’s called a statue.

With anal sex, I suggest you start gently. Find a slender midget. Or a member of Congress.

Abraham Lincoln wrote a poem about me once. You might know it as the Gettysburg Address. Men with beards are romantic.

The Man With A Green Apple For A Nose.” This is not a joke.

Rain is a nudist’s shower, and I want a bathtub the size of a lake. Then we could make love like your parents did that one time, nine months before your birth.

Francis Bacon has the most delicious last name ever, followed closely by Johnny Scrambledeggs. I make love like those two guys make breakfast out of family reunions.

I have sewn my own destruction, and it looks like a cat sweater. I knitted matching pants too, because that’s what lovers do. My feelings for you melted in the ice cream cone, and I’m...

I can smell a whisper from two secret admirers away. Of all the Men’s rooms, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into this one.

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.

Yes, I know,” Isadora said, and then read her poem, leaning forward so Carmelita Spats would not overhear:”I would rather eat a bowl of vampire batsthan spend an hour with Carmelita Spats.”The Baudelaires giggled and...

Never send a Man in to do a Donkey’s job

To all the rest of his Absurdities, (for vice is always unreasonable,) he adds one more, who expects that Vertue from another which he won’t practise himself.

Why don’t they make the whole plane out of that black box stuff?

A man is an angel that has gone deranged.

I cannot here withhold the statement that optimism, where it is not merely the thoughtless talk of those who harbor nothing but words under their shallow foreheads, seems to me to be not merely an...

A First Sign of the Beginning of Understanding is the Wish to Die.

To attract a lover, you need to craft the perfect Craigslist ad. Here’s mine: Free TV with purchase of potato chips and couch.

I park my car in the parking spot right next to the parking spot my bed is in, just in case I have to pee quickly (at above 65 miles per hour).

People put bars on their windows to keep themselves safe, and I say why not just commit a felony and go to prison? Plenty of bars there.

Tiny Dancer” play on repeat, while I enjoyed the spectacle of a midget stripper dressed like jet fuel (Rocket Man).

What if a statue of me walked past my clone frozen in thought? Which one of the two would make a better quarterback than Geno Smith?

Love sounds like an elephant weighs. I know, because I’ve seen it with my own two nostrils. I’ve grown fat on the scent of Helen Keller’s memory.

I want to sprint into her open arms, but I run as fast as two shoes tied together and thrown over a telephone wire. I’m like Roger Bannister, now that he’s in a wheelchair.

I vacuumed my piano, hoping to soak up the last of the concertos. I should sell musical sponges, for the lover in the kitchen in all of us.

The referees made a questionable call. Still, I was ready with an answer and picked up on the first ring. That ring was an engagement ring, and I said yes.

A clock is a pie, and my piece is between 1 and 12. It’s always time to love—especially if it’s filled with cinnamon apples.

Both of the items were used in an attempted murder, but hers was a dagger, and mine was a baby’s rubber bottle nipple. That was the last time I took a stab at love.

I gave her all the love I had to give—which wasn’t 100%, but rather 10%. The other 90% either evaporated or got stolen in the name of war reparations.

I can tell if two people are in love by how they hold each other’s hands, and how thick their sanitation gloves are.

I loved her as long as a midget. It was gruesome, and then I grew some.

I’m glad scrambled eggs don’t have lips, because when I’m grinning over a hearty breakfast, it would really freak me out to see my breakfast grinning back. I’ve eaten a man for less than that.

Hooray! I finally finished making a new book cover. Now I just need to write the book. The cover is the image of a man hanging, so perhaps I’ll write a romance novel.

A wife is a friend first, a lover second, and third and probably most important, a maid.

Like the playwrights of the Absurd, Woolrich recognized that a senseless story best mirrors a senseless existence.

The office is painted with green and red stripes. It’s not painted that way so my mom can experience Christmas 364 more days a year. It represents the stock market, with green symbolizing greed, and...

The girl who did my oil change was so sexy that after she was done, I drove nonstop 2500 miles one way, just so I could immediately turn around and drive back with a reason...

I’m too busy to chew. That’s why I blend all my meals into smoothies, and I make love as slowly as ice cream melts in the Sahara.

I’d like to wade through all the people named Wade in this city, and personally call all of them to congratulate them on their fabulous name.

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...

Pepperonis are like edible polkadots. I made you a pizza dress, but I’m ashamed to admit I burned it. I’m afraid you’ll have to dance naked.

I talked to him on Christmas, and again on March 5th. Neither one of us hung up the phone that whole time.

Revenge is a dish best served in something microwaveable

Never love anybody who treats you like you’re normal…they’re just the psychiatric hospital staff

The bounties of space, of infinite outwardness, were three: empty heroics, low comedy, and pointless death.

I’m not a drinker, my body won’t tolerate…eh…spirits, really. I had two martinis New Years Eve and I tried to hi-jack an elevator and fly it to Cuba.

The doctrine that future happiness depends upon belief is monstrous. It is the infamy of infamies. The notion that faith in Christ is to be rewarded by an eternity of bliss, while a dependence upon...

My love is meatloaf flavored. I just wish my meatloaf was also meatloaf flavored.