My love is colorful, like a rainbow that’s only shades of blue. Monochromatic for monoamor.
I am the parking garage of love, but sadly I’m empty at the moment. It’s cheaper if you pay for a whole week, rather than by the hour.
My love is dangerous, like getting stabbed by a knife handle. I make love like a psychotic dyslexic.
I always start peeing when I’m only halfway to the litter box. This eagerness to finish is what probably makes me such a great lover.
The two squirrels quarreled like lovers, and it moved me so much I made both into one toupee. I’m not bald, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wear it. I’m a romantic.
I did a finger painting today, and you can hardly even see my brushstrokes. Similarly, when we make love, you won’t even notice that I’m there.
Human sperm is liquefied dandelion florets, and an estimated one out of every thousand children are born as flowers. This is an indisputable fact, just as being love can elongate the genitals to cucumber-like proportions. Salad anyone?
With friends like me, who needs mannequins? My love for you is statuesque. Come, let us dance like we’re made of stone.
We made love like two shy people who acted like we’ve never acted in front of a camera before. Aside from the lead actor, I was also the producer, director, cameraman, and financier.
We made love like two smiles torturing a frown. My advice is to put it on the rack, and really stretch out the event.
The earth has lots of love to give, if you just know where to dig. My advice is start in the cemetery.
I only had one drink. The problem was, my vodka glass could hold one gallon. I thought I was in love, but I was really intoxicated.
Somebody get me a bottle of booze—and a reason to quit drinking. I fell in love twice today, and I only encountered one other person.
Even though my voice is invisible, my words aren’t dead and ghostlike. My “I love you” is alive and well.
My flashlight’s not working. I don’t know if the batteries are dead, but my mother-in-law sure as hell isn’t. When she dies, my love can live.
A man with nobody to love is like a stamped envelope with no address.
I was in love. Either that, or I was knocking on the wrong door. But it didn’t matter, because nobody answered.
He lies on the couch all day watching television. I admire his classic American ambition. He’s probably a better lover than me.
Love is two unicorns arguing over which is better: one animal with two horns, like a bull, or two animals with one horn apiece. I guess it doesn’t matter, because you should never debate when you’re horny.
I fell in love with her that day. I realized it when someone told me it was Tuesday.
She was a pretty good lover. Too bad she wasn’t pretty and good.
