I built a Name Machine. It’s a vending machine that dispenses monikers. For 50 cents, now you can be called Don G. Lover, just like your mom.

Everything I know about love came out of a vending machine. I’m still waiting on change.

I want to create vagina-scented scratch and sniff stickers. You know, for lovers. They’d be dispensed in vending machines in YMCA locker rooms.

Cats are portable calm distributors. They’re like vending machines distributing peace for free.

Vanessa Sky Ellis scours the streets of NYC looking for celebrities to take selfies with, while I scrounge up quarters to try to buy love out of vending machines. I have had sex with more...