There’s lots of love in Ocala. Must be something in the water. That’s probably why I have to pee so much.
My love is fountainesque. Is your body drinkable?
I tried picking my nose once, but I was too indecisive. I would tell you I love you, but I can’t decide if maybe I’m not really in love with your clone.
Holding hands with your lover is special, especially when that hand is plastic, and that lover is a mannequin.
When one is two, it is love, and one plus one equals three.
I drink trees, and I pee beavers. I know, you must imagine that I’m an exceptional lover. And I am! (I’m imagined, not an exceptional lover).
My love for her is as nuanced as a Nancy, and I wish her name were Nancy so I could more effectively convey my love for her.
My love for her is deep, like the ocean, only not so salty. My love for her probably only has as much salt as a bag of potato chips, though it’s much, much more addicting to munch on.
From across the bar, I saw her see me seeing her see me, and I knew that she knew, and with all this knowledge and vision I figured it must be love. But I could be wrong, because it turns out that I need glasses.
If life has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what you should do, you should love. Even if you’re in the process of murdering someone, possibly a politician, your heart should be filled with love.
I loved her like the sun raining down on my skin. It was all so confusing, because was it raining or was it sunny? The answer is that love is always both, and that’s why I prefer umbrellas over condoms.
When I’m old and I brush my teeth and her dentures, I’ll smile because that is love—and that is disgusting.
Love is something you must work at. And if you can’t work at it, don’t expect the government to subsidize you. At least not until the Central Bank figures out how to counterfeit emotions.
I’d lick the water out of your bathtub, just to prove I love you—and that I’m not a cat.
She got me nothing for my birthday. When I saw the empty box, I said, “Ah, you shouldn’t have!” I love a box full of emptiness.
We made love sweet and gentle, like strawberry jelly. Peanut butter makes me horny.
When I told her my love would stop her tears from falling, she started laughing. She laughed so hard she started crying. Damn. Double damn!
Love is a funny thing. It's so funny it will make you laugh until you cry.
Helen Keller, she just can’t see how much I love her. Also, she acts like she can’t hear my crying out for her. #WCW
A person crying is like a sponge wringing itself out. Love is better than a sink that turns itself off without you having to touch the handle.
Even though I created an “Eat Bubblegum” dance, I can’t actually perform it because my belly doesn’t bulge out far enough. When I make love it sounds like I’m chewing on a chalkboard.
