In the immortal words of myself, "If our destiny stems from our name, then I weep for the flower named Wilt." Likewise, if cyborgs one day come to be viewed as so human-like that they are accepted as equals, then I cry for the cyborg named Mel T. Dow...
I wish I had eyes that changed colors from blue to gray, and then after I cried, to all the colors of the rainbow, because then I’d just sit in front of the mirror writing poems that alternated between extremely sad poems, to poems about light refr...
Every time I eat an English muffin I feel like I become more grammatically correct, more refined, more cultured, and an all-around gentleman.
If facial expressions had fur, then I’d snuggle your sneer. It’s so ugly it’s cute, like one of those little dogs, the kind Ryan Lilly has.
I don’t quite know how to respond to people who say that I dance like my genitals are on fire. I usually just blush and brush aside their flattery.
I dance like I have a chip on my shoulder. I dance salsa.
I got a small package in the mail today, and I thought it was the midget stripper I bought off eBay. But it was just a pair of shoes I ordered. Didn’t matter, I still made them dance for me.
A ball is a great place to dance, or a great thing to dribble. A ball is also a great thing to scratch when it's itchy and sweaty.
We danced together. We didn’t look graceful, but how could we? She only had one leg and I had my eyes on her friend the whole night. Sure, her friend couldn’t dance either, and literally had two left feet, but I’ll take two left feet over one l...
I took baby steps to overcome my embarrassment over my tiny infant feet. Would you dance with me even if I had the moves of a midget?
Her boyfriend can’t hold a candle to me. Especially not while I’m holding the strobe light. It’s hard to do modern dancing when you’re living like it’s 1882. Still, I make it look pretty easy.
The world may be running out of water, but it isn’t running low on music. Let the dancing flow!
When love dissipates, it’s like dancing with daisies at midnight, and you don’t get easy at it when you’re deceased. And make no mistake, you will die before romance will.
She had a forehead like a dance floor. You should have seen the way the sun danced on her face in the middle of the night. I never actually saw it because I was always asleep in the middle of the night, but I’ll bet it looked unbelievable.
I don’t care if you live by the motto: let the chips fall where they may, but don’t you dare spill the salsa. Not unless you’re holding it while we’re enjoying romance in motion known as salsa dancing.
If you’re going to hit on me, please wear boxing gloves. I get it though, because when I’m dancing it looks like I’m fighting. In the face of violence, I’m just that gentle and sensual.
Sure, I have nice shoes. They’re in my closet, collecting a patina of dust. My shoes were made for dancing, and that’s why they’re dusty, because my feet, unfortunately, were not made for dancing. My feet were made for making wine, and that’s...
Laughter is the sound of the soul dancing. My soul probably looks like Fred Astaire.
Fighting and dancing are kind of related. Especially if you dance with another man’s woman.
I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes, particularly not mine. Especially not when I am dancing alone.
Dancing? Not only do I have two left feet, but they’re different sizes. And I don’t put them in shoes—I store them in glass jars in my basement.
