I’d like a doggy bag to take home my leftover grilled canine burger.

I had a dream about you. I was a consumer, and you were a consumed. My grocery list had 10 items on it. Items 1-9 were cat food, and the 10th item was condoms. But...

She gave me the cold shoulder, so I heated it up in the microwave. Sometimes #love is leftovers.

I am your Wednesday Sex Meatloaf. At least, I’d like to be. This Tuesday I have a vacancy, if you like leftovers from six days before.

There should be a soup spoon on the end of fire truck ladders, because fires do nothing if they don’t warm up leftovers.

I’ve got a sizeable retirement nest egg. It’s an ostrich egg, and it’s going to make an omelet so big that it’ll produce enough leftovers for decades.

My love is like leftovers, and her image is the original meal. I should have eaten it all in one sitting.

The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found.

Like pets, I name my leftover food. Only I name them all after myself, partly so my coworkers won’t eat them in the fridge, but mostly out of vanity.

I ate leftover karate chops, before they could smash through the Styrofoam container holding them.

I unwrapped my love for her like one might unwrap leftovers. Gotta eat up the old stuff first, as a cannibal might say in a retirement home.

I’m a little more reserved in person than people expect. But I warm up quickly, like leftovers. Meatloaf, anyone?

Weren’t you wearing a purity ring when we got here? Aren’t you supposed to be saving yourself?” Shanti asked. “Yeah,” Mary Lou answered. “And then I thought, for what? You save leftovers. My sex is...

Love is bringing an empty Tupperware container on your date, not to hold leftovers from dinner, but just in case your date really has to shit.

I made her a bathing suit—out of saran wrap. We made love like leftovers.

…true love is an irrevocable act – you can only give your heart away once – after that, you give as much as you have left …

Leave me with my leftover meatloaf and my Yesterday Sandwich. I’ll be in love tomorrow, if you come back with the ketchup.

I’m building a hot air balloon out of my love for you. I’m starting with the hot air, and then I’m going to surround that with saran wrap, because after all, I’m only using leftovers.

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

It’s amazing that a thin film of plastic wrap is enough to protect food against the aggression of hungry marauders. Or maybe the plastic cover doesn’t act as a shield, but rather the starving mob...

We made love like Leftover Tuesday you eat cold on a warm Wednesday morning. And the next day I didn’t hear from her until the following yesterday.

Love is all around. I don’t need your leftovers, ma’am. Not unless you’re offering meatloaf.

She loves me. She must, because she left flowers in the fridge from her date. She knows how I love flower salad.

I like to get to-go boxes at restaurants where not only did I not eat in, but apparently their patrons didn’t either, judging by how much food they left on their plates.

I had a dream about you. We picked up where we left off, with leftovers, and I said this was the best second-time dinner I’ve ever had a first time. Oh, I had it before,...