Alcohol is the motorcycle of beverages. Liver fast, die young.
As the ice melted, we fell in love—slowly. I just wish the ice were in two glasses of vodka, and not surrounding our bodies.
Love is to beer as I am to drunk. And you say I’m not romantic. Shoot, I’m so romantic I could just puke.
I didn’t chug the hairspray because I’m an alcoholic. I drank it to style my throat hairs.
Am I the only guy that holds a flute of champagne like it’s a musical instrument?
I’m a competitor. I once placed fifth in a bottle of whiskey.
They call alcohol spirits, because it’s the spirit turned liquid. Would you drink my soul if you knew I’d use it to get inside of you? After all, most men buy women alcohol so they can get inside them too.
A drunk can't follow a line of reasoning, even if it is a double white line.
If I share your bottle of beer, I’ll take the left side.
I breathe onto a mirror just to make sure I’m still alive, and to see how good looking my breath is.
Some people work to live, and other people live to work. Then some people, like me, are both unemployed and alive (at least at the time of this writing).
My hands will get dirty holding your rose-like heart, because love is like gardening—it’s earthy and takes work to keep it alive.
I think eulogies are wasted on the dead. It’s the living who need to hear kind words spoken about them.
The clouds rolled over the hills like a pack of midgets wearing gray togas somersaulting in unison, and I thought it’s a glorious day to be alive and in love.
I didn’t do it in 1066. But I’m only not guilty because I wasn’t quite alive then. The ferocity of the Normans not named Norman is underestimated in history, and I fear neither woman nor man. But one thing that does terrify me is hermaphrodites...
Coffee has a way of falling into my cup the way love does not. I’m so tired of being a lone sip when I should be a chug.
One word I’d use to describe space is lonely. The only way I’ll board a space shuttle is if I had a babysitter with me. You know, to watch the baby I’ll make with her.
I know what it means to be alone, especially in a large group of clones.
I like being right more than I like keeping friends. Certainly this leaves me lonely, but at least I’m always certain.
Work hard or don’t work hard, either way your hair will turn gray. I should let you be alone while you die, slowly.
There was an amazing party last night. I would have asked you to come with me, but the invitation read “Guest plus one.” Unfortunately, I wasn’t sent an invitation to be able to invite someone. I wasn’t even the “plus one.” But I did get ...
