A blanket that has arms to hold you when you are sad, now that's what I call a comforter.
In the future, I’ll be furniture. Step on me now or sit on me later, but either way let me know how I can make you feel comfortable.
What’s the point of being the first to arrive? Nobody is there to witness your commitment.
Getting to know somebody new—it’s part of the fun of avoiding people.
Most men want sex, without the kids or commitment. I want sex, but I don’t want to have to pay any money. But is that possible? I should invent a vending machine that dispenses sex. I guess it’ll also distribute political favors.
I love letting her know how much she means to me. A love in secret is but a shadow that’s cold and lonely.
I use one word to ward off love: No. She used no words to ward of love. Seriously, she tells me nothing, and in this way she tells me she doesn’t love me.
If body language is 90% of a conversation, then obviously what’s being said is only half as important as what’s not being said. And what are you saying? I can’t hear you when my back is turned.
I’ve always wanted to send a message in a bottle, with my message saying something like, “Don’t litter.
I sent a message silently, through body language and body odor.
When I smile, not only do my ears rise, but so does my listening ability. When my mouth goes all Helen Keller, you know I heard you.
I don’t know how to say it without saying it, so I’ll just not say it. Or I could show it, because that’s the only way to make love visible.
Language is the proper way to communicate, followed closely by five balled up fingers forming a fist and flying at a face. Violence is never the answer—unless the question is: What the fuck are you going to do about it?
I hear what you say in what you don’t say, you see, because I’m a Helen Keller kind of communicator. Love is just as visible as invisible.
We agreed to meet at 4. I meant AM and she meant PM, so we both just stood around thinking we’d been stood up.
A crime scene is a silent witness that speaks louder and clearer than any human. Just ask Helen Keller.
I can’t remember the last time I had fun. Wait, yes I can. It was 1989, and I was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Communism, like the mullet, will never go out of style.
Generally, competition is a good thing. But not when it’s between two nipples, specifically mine, over which one can suck the most.
