I am the ghost in the empty jar. My silence belongs in the cemetery, just like all my ex girlfriends. Long live love!
I make love like a backseat, not on a backseat. I’m both in motion, yet stationary. I would encourage you to encourage your mom to buckle up.
Virginia isn’t for lovers. Vagina is for lovers. Makes me wonder why there aren’t any for sale in any vending machines.
When your soul gets dry, you could either water it with alcohol—or love. You could use water, but remember—there can only be one Michael Phelps.
For dessert I ate a desert. It was sandy, and so was the name of the woman I ate dinner with. She had a dry sense of humor, and that is why I wore a raincoat.
Left-handed and eyes closed, it’s how I masturbate—while driving at night. If you want to know how I make love, you’re going to have to pay for admission.
Everywhere I go, I bring Bring, and a feeling of redundancy. I love you because I love you—and because I love you. What more do you want?
It was more like a movie. Everyone was wearing black, gray, or white except for her. She was in a red dress, and like a herd of bulls, the crowd was angry and made charges against her. Thankfully I was there to come to her defense, like a matador. Yo...
Love is a tomato. And while it's true that I can live without a tomato, I could sure go for some ketchup.
I am the washing machine of love. And if you have no idea what I mean, maybe it’s time to let some laundry into your life.
-My son was 32 when he died. -Degrees? So he froze to death, huh?
Which half do you want me to cut in half, Mr. Halfofhalf? The name’s Onequarter. Johnny Onequarter. And don’t you forget it.
This morning, as I was driving to work, I mistook a big brown box on the side of the road for a deer. It was dark, and I swerved at the last second, and even though it wasn’t a deer, I still managed to nail that son of a bitch.
I wear a glove to honor all the men who have given me a hand. And to think, out of all those men, they only had one hand. No wonder I never get any high-fives.
Eating a plain bagel with no cream cheese is like eating the inner tube of a bicycle tire, and I’d rather ride my roller skates to work.
I’m hungry but I won’t order 18 tubs of ketchup and a spoon. No, I’ll order it because I’m thirsty, and I’ll ask for a straw.
He works for the CIA. Johnny Redyellow is his name, but I just simply call him Agent Orange.
To attract a lover, you need to craft the perfect Craigslist ad. Here’s mine: Free TV with purchase of potato chips and couch.
