The age of the skyscraper is gone. This is the age of the housing project. Which is always a prelude to the age of the cave.
Of middle age the best that can be said is that a middle-aged person has likely learned how to have a little fun in spite of his troubles.
I wanted to tell her “I love you” back, but I guess in waiting for the perfect moment (the next commercial break), I ended up completely forgetting.
Love isn’t easy. Making love is easy, especially when you’re hard, like I am now. There’s just something about retirement homes that I find erotic.
You know you’re in love when you reach out to hold your woman’s hand, without remembering that her hands are full because you insisted she carry all the groceries out to the car.
I’ve got a great body. It’s got four wheels under it and I drive it to work. I would give you a ride to work, but what am I, a camel? No, I’m the Love Mule.
She moved her hands like crane claws as she spoke, trying to dig at the essence of what she was saying. It was the dirtiest I love you I’ve ever heard.
I love you because I love you, and if you don’t like it you can use my circular logic as a noose and hang yourself.
My girlfriend and I are close. She’s like a brother to me. My brother is also dating her. We make love like mannequins and mashed potatoes, despite the fact that I’m single and an only child.
I’d rather have a horse in a glass, because I’ll be just down the hall if you need me. My affection is fluid, so why won’t you let me love you?
We ate soup in the pouring rain. I said I liked it, even though it was a bit too watery for my taste. Then we made love like two rainbows sizzling in a pan like bacon.
All the love I have left over from my last relationship is covered in tinfoil and labeled “Do Not Eat.” Since I don’t feel like cooking or making love, I’ll probably have it for dinner tonight.
I called her Nebraska, because she was from Iowa. We made love like the Midwest. Well, not all of it. More like the Midwest minus Kansas, if you know what I mean.
I am Kid Awesome, I kid you not. But I don’t think making love is childish—or for children, unless you’re doing it for children (to produce them, not to entertain them).
If I can scoop soup at 20 MPH while riding a three-legged horse, just imagine how great of a lover I am when I’m lying perfectly still.
The ice cube melted slowly like a candle, and I thought about my love for her and how it was like an ice cube candle and that I’ve always wanted to drink fire and make love with the ferociousness of a cooked spaghetti noodle.
I want to be loved, but first, I want to love. I’ll love you and we’ll both feel good, and if you love me too that’d be great, but not entirely necessary.
She wasn’t much for words, but she told me she loved me in other ways, like soft kisses, gentle caresses, and occasionally even acknowledging that I was also in the room with her and that other guy.
We were just kids, what did we know about love? I knew I loved her, and she knew she didn’t love me. Turns out we were both wrong.
Having to eat fruit drives me bananas. But it’s OK, I park. Then I pick up a hooker and make love like I’ve got no money. And I really don’t have any.
I think we all should be in love once in our lifetime, even if we’re in love with someone who’s not alive in our lifetime. Long distance relations are hard, especially when you’re separated by six feet of dirt.
