I dropped out of school in the fourth grade to work in a shoe factory before I took up farming. I grew salmon—on trees.
I have a Secret. I keep it under my arms in the form of deodorant.
What do you call someone who watches you in your private moments? They used to be called a pervert, but now they’re called an NSA agent.
If the people we’re talking about are all my clones, then yes, I am a people person. I really do care. Ask me out or invite me in, and I’ll say yes—especially if you are me.
Susan B. Anthony. Also, Susan be Anthony, now that she had a sex change.
Will work for food. Will work for sex. Will work for the weekend, but I won’t work five consecutive days for it.
She said she had to leave in four minutes. I said, Great! Let’s have sex twice.
We made love. With our hands. Then we sold it to cars stopped at the red light.
Let’s make Kool-Aid together. I’ll bring the Kool-Aid and the sugar, if you water down the sex.
The two coolest names would be Stewart Stuart, and Stuart Stewart. For a woman, it would make normal sex feel like a threesome.
I had some good sex last night. How do I know it was good? Because I was participating, and not just a passive spectator and photographer.
I always have safe sex. I lock the door.
I wore rubber gloves. Why? Because I ran out of condoms.
Not too many people are talking about silence. People are suspiciously silent on the subject of silence.
People say the sun is too bright. I say the sun is too silent. And that’s saying something, considering I’m a Helen Keller fan.
Seeing a brightly-colored box, I asked, What’s that? She said nothing. So I said, “Ah, so that’s what silence looks like, huh?”
I crammed six years of silence into sixty seconds, held frozen and firm with an icy stare.
I sprained my ankle. I was asleep at the time. I rest restlessly.
I steal sleep. I steal it from people who are asleep, because it’s not like they’ll even notice anything’s been taken until it’s too late—or too early.
People tell me I have a winning smile, but it’s just not true. My grin took silver at last year’s Facial Expression Olympics.
My hair isn’t as white as snow, because it’s not old enough—or cold enough.
