I am not the No Factory I yessed into existence. I love with an intensity that needs to be felt to be purred.
She has a sly smile, and eyes that seem to see my essence as they explore my soul and implore my spirit to enter her. I look at her and I see love.
Where other men failed, I was able to unzip her pants. All I did was gently turn the handle. I make love like a locksmith in a room with no doors.
Normally I charge 60 cents on the dollar for stolen merchandise. But since it was my mother-in-law, and I stole it from her, I only charged her 50 cents on the dollar. That’s love.
We fell in love like two medium pizzas in one large stomach. I wish dad would have saved a few slices for us.
I believe there are three tenants to live by in this apartment called Life: Love is empowering, Fear is motivating, and Passion is fruit.
Love is like jumping out of an airplane with no parachute. But there’s no need to be frightened, because that plane is still on the ground.
I have a phobia of balloons—and other sharp objects. I also have a fear of too much love—giving, not getting.
A rocking chair in the middle of a boxing ring. You know, for the lover in the fighter. Also as something more entertaining than watching boxing.
Love me for me, not for how much I resemble my clones, or how handsome they are, or how brilliant they are, or how much you want to have sex with all of them, at once, in my basement, while I film.
A fire truck is just a drivable penis. The flames of my love might engulf you, if you don’t let me park inside you.
She loves me. She must, because she left flowers in the fridge from her date. She knows how I love flower salad.
Flowers smell terrific, but how do they sound? If they sound like your love life, then you’ve got to take your Helen Keller Goggles off.
Fireworks are flowers in the garden sky. My love is like New Year’s Eve, only less predictable and more daily.
Drink my Distraction Juice (not from concentrate). It tastes like love, only not so focused on just one ingredient.
Two become one when two are in love—or when the waitress asks about our dinner bill. I’ll pay next time, I promise.
Falling in love should be natural, like the food at Moe’s. Baby, I am so hungry for you, even though I know queso costs extra.
I make love like you might make an omelet. At least, I’m hoping you might make an omelet, because I skipped breakfast like a child skips home from the class he just skipped.
