Love is like a tall tree standing next to a midget. Well, it was like that, before it just walked away, leaving the midget just standing there, looking taller than normal.
I want to merge running a marathon and doing a handstand into one action. It will look similar to how I’d make love to a mannequin.
My two legs are like one pretzel when I sit on the floor. If only love were so intertwined.
She wasn’t much for words, but she told me she loved me in other ways, like showing me her main superpower—invisibility. I often wouldn’t see her for weeks straight, and for her to show me the unshowable showed a lot of trust in our relationshi...
I am Kid Awesome, I kid you not. But I don’t think making love is childish—or for children, unless you’re doing it for children (to produce them, not to entertain them).
Love is a trampoline of the heart. It has its up, it has its downs, and I’m selling mine for $100.00—only been jumped on once.
Your leftover meatloaf makes me horny. Let us make love like the first squirt from a new bottle of ketchup.
I make love like Brett Favre threw his first pass as a Green Bay Packer—to himself. Obviously, himself is myself.
Love is the walrus I crayon with like it’s the Eifel Tower. I know, love doesn’t make much sense to me, either.
Love is a four-letter word. So is glue, only it isn’t as sticky. And I must admit, I still eat it all the time.
There’s no room for love in my life. My car trunk is already full of groceries, a spare tire, and two kidnap victims.
I knew we were destined to be lovers from the moment she tied me up and stuffed me in the trunk of her car.
I wore a hat, to compensate for the fact that my pants were unzipped. When we made love, she asked if I brought a condom, so I showed her my tube socks. I brought two, for twice the protection.
As a lover I aim to please, and afterwards I aim at the toilet. Sometimes I miss, but no matter what, you’ll always receive splatters of intimacy.
She’ll come to love me or she won’t. I’m a fisherman, not a hunter.
I am the three minutes of 180 seconds, and I don’t do refills. I’m a lover, not a farmer.
If I can scoop soup at 20 MPH while riding a three-legged horse, just imagine how great of a lover I am when I’m lying perfectly still.
The three of us made love like one of us was a voyeur. I was the only one using binoculars as a sex toy.
My love is in the shape of a car, and when it hits you you’ll notice.
Love and I have been a duo since empty banana peel.
Underwater nobody can dance. Let this be a lesson in basket weaving. And love.
