I realize all guys have thorns. But I am a rose, and she chose a cactus over me. I wish her luck with her dry, desert-like existence with him.
I’m the last one to pick, but the first one to choose.
There are two apples, one is green and the other is red. Which apple would the wise man choose? The answer is: I’ll take the one you didn’t choose. You see, you are the fool here, because I poisoned the first apple!
It’s been said that men think only about sex and food. And some men, like my uncle Lester, think about sex with food. Needless to say the church has ordered him to cease bringing his own food to the potlucks.
What I got out of church was a love of God, and a detestable feeling for the men standing in the way of Him—and the buffet in the banquet hall. Stand aside—I’m starving!
I wonder what city Grover Cleveland is from. Probably Cincinnati.
In a battle of believability, the winner is the one with the best body language, not the clearest logic.
If one unlabeled bottle holds nonfat milk, what does the second unlabeled bottle contain? If you answered “Whole milk” then you’re obviously not ready to receive a jug of my love. So I’ll just pour it in someone else’s coffee.
I never scoff at coffins, because they’re like coffee cups you can bathe in. Well, coffins are like Starbucks’ coffee cups, only they have more life inside.
We fought, we drank coffee, and then we made up. Then I made up the part about us having made out, because I was trying to impress my ex girlfriend and grandma (two people, not one).
The stranger was as white as a gallon of milk, and I felt the desire to pour his soul into my coffee. I’d drink him like the ghost of my grandpa.
I drink coffee like I urinate—alone, or in large groups. Sometimes I wish I knew the secret handshake.
Working in a hotel is the anti-coffee shop, because instead of it being a place that’ll wake you up, it’s a place to sleep. And it’s a place to have sex, which is something Starbucks frowns upon (though I’ve never seen anyone frown during sex...
I once said hello to a pack of goodbyes, but they were asleep to my coffee offering. They were running towards love, which is always running away from me.
Morning coffee is my preferred method of starting my evening. I make love all the time half the time. That half is night. Wake me up when it’s ready.
My couch is coffee-colored. I can thank Starbucks and clumsiness for that.
I like instant gratification. It’s like instant coffee, only it won’t keep you up all night.
My I love you was a measured response, like one gallon of coffee in one cup of sugar. It was just overflowing with an awakening of my soul.
When I think about all the thinking I’ve done, I get sleepy, like a coffee-colored bear.
I am the coffee, and God is The Barista. Through me, he may awaken your soul. But the coffee knows not what flows through the mind of The Barista.
I laughed so hard I nearly spit out my hot tea. The strange part was the fact that I was drinking coffee at that moment.
