I’m feeling morass, when I should be feeling more ass. I can put my sadness behind me with what’s behind you.
I hid my feelings for her for years, and I thought all was well until my neighbor went digging in her garden and found them buried in the ground. I’m so embarrassed I could just watch one more episode on Netflix before going to bed.
I wish the military were the militerary. Less fighting and more reading.
We made love like two coiled up fire hoses. When there’s no fire in the romance, why not act like a couple of sleeping snakes?
It was a cold night, so I got a fire going. I lit a scented candle.
Boxing gloves/oven mitts could be used to fight fires. My uppercut can knock you out cold, like melting ice. Sip it slowly.
I wish I could grow swords like I can roses. Wouldn’t war be so romantic then? Then the U.S. could really show the world how much it loves it.
I arose like a rose, and this is how I knew I was in love. In the garden of life, I’m better off in your neighbor’s yard.
A rose is a mix of thorns with a flower, and is therefore half fuck you and half fuck me. If I gave you a dozen, would you fuck me 12 times?
I had eggs for breakfast. I ate them off the hood of a politician’s car, after I threw them there.
I could scarf down a scarf faster than I could eat any other throat warmer, with the possible exception of your clenched hands around my neck.
Finger food, is that food you eat with your fingers, or is that where you eat your fingers? I’m starving, but I also want to play the piano, so I need to know.
Standing in the kitchen when you’re hungry is torture. That’s why I moved my fridge to my dungeon, where I keep the prisoners.
Love is a Heaven Cake, with clouds for icing. If there are two pieces left, I guess I can have seconds.
Strive and thrive on high fives. Oh sure, I’d rather eat a round of applause, but when you’re starving you’ll eat anything. Even still, I’d rather eat a bucket of boos than anything from McDonald’s.
An upside down umbrella is a soup bowl. The next time it’s raining dinner, I’ll be there, and I’ll bring an extra spoon for you.
Dinner was a riot, but the food was bland, so I doused it with pepper spray. The chef wanted to protest, but he didn’t, because I had the pepper spray.
I went to a potluck. I brought my own pot—and luck. The pot was empty, just like my promise to bring food the next time.
