Love burns. Whiskey burns. George Burns. What do all three have in common? They’re all dead to me.
I used the boos, and not the booze, as motivation. That led to applause, which I drank up like an alcoholic. I need a refill.
When I die, remember to remove my body from the cooler before you start making the hunch punch. But by all means, do get drunk on my memory.
I plead the fifth—and then I drank it. I was drunk on love, but wouldn’t admit it. I was also drunk on whiskey, but the breathalyzer outed me.
I love you the way ice melts in vodka—slowly, seamlessly, and invisibly. It’s a feel-good feeling whether you see it or not.
For me to enjoy a salad, I need the right dressing. Vodka is salad dressing, right?
Your fantasies define you, so dream carefully. A man with no imagination is a man with no future in today’s world—and no past in tomorrow’s.
Love is like 9.75 plus .25. That’s 10, for all of you people trying to add fractions on your fingers. I can only count using eight, because I’m too busy using my middle fingers to tell the politicians how much I love them.
I lost my temper today. Fuck it. Whoever finds it can keep it.
Tempers are temporary, but hateful and hurtful words can be remembered forever. Leave a legacy of love and say only kind things.
The middle finger is a great body language tool for letting people know you’re upset. Poetry isn’t quite as effective in a fit of road rage.
New streets should be Twitter friendly and be named with hashtags up front. I’d build a house on #LoversLane.
Together kabobs make the world better than all the Bobs combined. Well, at least ever since Bob Ross moved on to the land of the happy trees.
In the lobby of every business incubator there needs to be a bathtub, to get the ideas flowing. But to make it funktional, it needs to be used as a fish tank.
I was gardening when I saw this snail/slug thing disguised as a leaf. Ah, isn't fall a wonderful time to slowly fall in love?
My late summer shorts caught fire, and that’s when all the red of autumn began. We fell in love while she roasted marshmallows over my toasty genitals.
0 plus 100 equals 100. But so does 50 plus 50, only with more balance. Let this be a lesson in love.
When her boyfriend broke his leg, I knew it was my chance to ask her to dance. So I put down my baseball bat and approached her like Babe Ruth.
