I like my eggs sunny side up at midnight, and I wear sunglasses when I eat them because they are so bright. They’re almost as blinding as my love for you, only not as runny.
Good things come to those who ate. I’m going to wait to eat. I just got done swallowing my pride, and I’ll be full for the foreseeable future.
I weigh more than I used to. I've been eating a lot of fast food, so I must have put on some muscle—without even working out!
Try my all-you-can-eat vomit soup. Sadly, people don’t want seconds, because they don’t even want firsts. But it tastes great. I tasted it on the way down—and then again on the way up.
I don’t eat food with silverware—I use sponges. I always clean my plate.
If I only ate popsicles, I wonder if I’d rather freeze or starve to death. Freezing or starving, they’re like either option in a two-party political system.
Social progress: for the same price as last year, I get a slimmer candy bar, less chips per bag, and I have to walk a little further to work, because to spend the same amount on gas I have to continuously park farther and farther away from the buildi...
When there’s no more food, only the anorexics will be amped up. And I’ll be there to drink up that excitement, because eating all that food made me thirsty.
Everything I learned in school, mixed together with water and chicken broth, isn’t worth the soup served at a soup kitchen. I was a bring-my-own-spoon kind of student.
Your food’s not getting cold. I’m keeping it warm in my stomach. Dinner’s on me tonight.
Stacks of vitamins in a soapy sink. Shh, don’t talk to me while I think. Don’t look while I stuff your yummy dinner down the drain. It was so good I couldn’t bear to eat it. Shh don’t talk, let me hold this thoughtlessness in my empty mind.
I am the food of love. And do you know what food that is? Distilled barley.
At the potluck, I brought two dishes: knowledge and mashed potatoes and gravy. Guess which one got cleaned out and which one hardly got touched.
Good things come to those who ate. And I’m stuffed. Like a teddy bear. That might be why I’m the World Cuddling Champion.
I think the most heavenly food is fluffy white clouds.
The best part about a murder mystery dinner, of course, is the dinner. I make a killer Bubble and squeak, if you know what I mean. The mystery, of course, is what's in the dinner.
My love for you is like food for a statue. My love is like anything from McDonald’s, because it will never decay and always looks brand new.
Things I can’t live without: food, water, love. But not her love, because I haven’t had that in a long time, yet I’m still alive.
I found a hair in my Campbell’s soup, and I’d love to talk to them about advancement opportunities for bald people. My love is as bald as an eagle, only not symbolic of the largest prison system in history. Freedom Soup sounds like a good name fo...
Love, like hefty leftover stew, could be eaten with a spoon—or with some homeless guy I just met. I would offer you some, but we haven’t met yet. And whose fault is that? Oh yeah—yours.
An inch of enchilada, as good as it is, is not even worth a centimeter of love. My feelings for you are hot, so you may need some sour cream.
