The Eiffel Tower doesn’t look like a penis. My penis looks like the Eiffel Tower. What’s not to love about a Love Stick shaped like the symbol of the City of Love?
Broccoli, it’s what’s for breakfast. This morning let us make love like we’re both still asleep. I’ll hit the snooze if you find the lube.
She asked if I was asleep, so I looked at her and said, “Yes, I am.” I’m the kind of lover who’d wear a unicycle to a tricycle convention for hitchhikers.
Love is like a tall tree standing next to a midget. Well, it was like that, before it just walked away, leaving the midget just standing there, looking taller than normal.
Love is the elephant we’re all trying to mouse down. Who am I to tell you that sex with furniture is not a “real” relationship?
Love is the most powerful force in the universe, and do you know where it gets its energy from? From a generator I have hooked up to a stationary bicycle.
Empty pockets full of empty packets of hot sauce remind me of the love I have for her. My heart burns with desire. My mouth also burns.
I knitted a sweater to look like a swimming bird, and pretty soon the whole world looked like it tasted like duck soup. My love is coffee-shaped and without chug.
Gondolas are romantic. Forgetting the last word in the phrase “I love you” isn’t romantic. Still, I get credit for rowing, right?
Your love, it takes me to the moon. Let’s get back to the film studio and start over. Pour a small cup of coffee while I take one large sip for mankind.
I drink trees, and I pee beavers. I know, you must imagine that I’m an exceptional lover. And I am! (I’m imagined, not an exceptional lover).
My love for her is as nuanced as a Nancy, and I wish her name were Nancy so I could more effectively convey my love for her.
My love for her is deep, like the ocean, only not so salty. My love for her probably only has as much salt as a bag of potato chips, though it’s much, much more addicting to munch on.
If life has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what you should do, you should love. Even if you’re in the process of murdering someone, possibly a politician, your heart should be filled with love.
Love is something you must work at. And if you can’t work at it, don’t expect the government to subsidize you. At least not until the Central Bank figures out how to counterfeit emotions.
She got me nothing for my birthday. When I saw the empty box, I said, “Ah, you shouldn’t have!” I love a box full of emptiness.
If my house were burning down, the one thing I’d take with me is my vast collection of smoke. I consider smoke the souls of dead cigarettes my lovers have exhaled.
I love that she loves me a 10, on a 5-point scale. Well, I know it’s a 5-point scale, though I asked her on a 1-100 scale.
I’ll bet I could find some hurtful words in a pile of sticks and stones. Something like an insincere and deceptive "I love you.
Beth We Steve I know you can Dave. I’m a lover, not a We’re Closed Until Further Notice kind of mannequin. Your donkey is my motorcycle of desire.
Where other men failed, I was able to unzip her pants. All I did was gently turn the handle. I make love like a locksmith in a room with no doors.
