She grew broccoli, and I grew dentures. We were perfect for each other. Our love disappeared into each other like a box of toothpicks.

I turned on my faucet, and out slithered a clear garden snake. It was too cold to shave with, so I grew out a beard and patch of broccoli. Sometimes my love is liquid, and...

Mama!’ Rosie tugged on my shirt. ‘This broccoli is tasty and wonderful’.

I’ll never go hungry, because I’m a pet owner and a meat eater. I used to own broccoli, but taking it for a walk in the park didn’t work out so well.

Without pain, how could we know joy?’ This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to...

But they fight in the name of the creator.” “I don’t care if they fight in the name of broccoli. The goal remains the same.