Instead of making trash cans cylinder shaped, they should make the mold look more like a person, to help with that ever baffling question: Now that I’ve killed him, what do I do with the body?
I’m the most expensive person in my life. Every day I pay for the poor decisions of my past.
I’m claustrophobic. Your love is suffocating me and making me panic like the Crash of ’29. Just give me some space, and soon I’ll be all 1930 and we can try to make things work.
We all wear uniforms, even if we’re conforming to unconformity. People who try so hard to look different end up looking the same as all the other people who try so hard to look different.
If a woman named Ms. Silver won a gold medal, she’d probably be a little disappointed she didn’t place second. My love always finishes first, while my love always comes second.
I’ll give you a treat to get in your cage. I’m rewarding you for punishing you. Who am I? If you guessed either dog catcher or politician you are correct.
I say eek to Zeke Ekez, the imaginary palindrome politician of my dreams. He looks like me, talks like me, and thinks like me, but I won’t vote for him, because I always vote for myself.
When I see a cop’s lights behind me at two in the morning, and I have my disco ball dangling from my rearview mirror, it’s like, Hey, a party! Especially if I’ve been drinking.
Who I am is unimportant. But who I am is very important. I’ll suppress my ego now, every occurring now, so I can achieve my maximum later.
You wouldn’t try to mow your lawn with an electric razor, like it was a green beard, so why would you try to deny the existence of nonexistence?
Earwax is nothing more than sound boogers. I’m too congested to hear anything but I love you. Not that I expect you to flick it at me lightly.
I asked possible witnesses about the invisible man shaped like a whisper, and nobody saw or heard anything. Which means he was there, and he is probably my father.
My mother-in-law got so angry at me she vowed she’d never speak to me again, and I smiled and gave thanks for the little miracle God worked in my life.
The cycle of parental disapproval begins at dawn. That’s why I have to get up five minutes before sunrise, so I can berate my grandpa like he was my own child.
Some people say I look like my mom, while others say I look more like my dad. I guess it all depends on what I’m wearing.
It’s tough to lose one parent, but to lose two—in a murder/suicide no less! But it’s OK, soon after the incident I found out I was abandoned as a baby, so they weren’t my real parents anyway.
If I met a man who had eleven sons, the first thing I’d ask is, Are they all yours? And of course the next question I’d ask is, which one plays quarterback and which one is the best receiver?
I want to go to Martha’s Vineyard. I have an aunt named Martha. And an uncle by that name. Neither one is related to me.
I want to share my thoughts with you. Press your forehead firmly against mine, and let my mind transfer to yours. You won’t receive love, because that’s a feeling, and best communicated with a kiss.
The sun is a flower, and it burns my goddamn nostrils like the scent of love, which I haven’t tasted since I put on my midnight-black blindfold. I’m just naturally romantic, I guess.
I’d rather fake my own fog, than fake a steamy love scene. Can I interest you in some mist? It’s homemade.
