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.
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.
Love is like a zebra refereeing a football game. I should know, because I am the rodeo cowboy riding that zebra.
I loved her like Monday’s not Sunday. Is it yesterday yet? I won’t know if we were meant to be together forever until six days from now. That’s a long time. Also, that’s a long time.
When I fake smile the corners of my mouth twitch from tiredness, then nervousness, as I wonder if anybody can see my mouth quivering and figure out that I’m faking my friendliness.
It’s hard to find friends I can trust. Most end up either getting shot, stabbed, or I have to tie them up and toss them overboard in the Atlantic Ocean.
I’m a Pisces, and people say that Pisces make the best the best lovers. That’s because Pisces are fish, and it’s like my grandpa always used to say, “The next best thing to making love to a mermaid, is having sex with a fish.
If you were to ask me what’s under my bed, I’d tell you shoes. They’re brown, and they’re still attached to the body that’s been decomposing there since I hid it three days ago.
I know that man started animal husbandry thousands of years ago, and I think it’s disgusting. Men and animals should never be allowed to marry. Or have sex. And maybe not even engage in necking, unless it’s a man and a giraffe.
If I were king, I wouldn’t pay you the money I owe you. I’d give you a far more valuable gift: the gift of life—your own. Yes, you’d get to keep it!
I make an H2O alternative with my armpits. I left you a ten-gallon sample in your car, as a going away gift.
Can you ever really say you know anybody—your clone included? Still, if my clone’s birthday were coming up, I’d only shop Buy One Get One Free deals.
If I knew what you’d do, exactly when you knew what you’d do, then I’d either be you or I’d be God. And we both know I’m not you.
For me, a website would be user friendly if it gave me a handjob. It’d be doubly impressive if it were also a porn site, or government regulation compliance site.
I’m as efficient as a fish ant, I’m as mythical as a productive government employee, and I’m the kind of lover your mother would approve of. Ask her—she’ll tell you how good I am in bed.
It’s supposed to be raining Thank Yous on Thursday, after an ingratitude draught. Also, you’d better enjoy my love while it’s fresh, before it goes rotten and I have to sell it to McDonald’s as chicken filler.
Hard work sends your opponent a message. It says you’re not talented enough to win on intrinsic merit alone. I sent my opponent a message. It said, “I’m to lazy to edit before hitting send.
Even though I wore an eye patch, the Cyclops and I, we didn’t see eye to eye. We argued about the nature of love, and I hated it, so in the name of love I had to stab him.
At night my shadow multiplies, and clones itself into total darkness. Half of all nudists hate me half the time, and half love me half the time. Sadly for me, the half who love me are the fat ones.
I keep my heart in my hope chest. Other items in there are clothes, towels, silverware, and all the love I have to offer my future wife. I must specify that my love is hand wash only.
A tree once saved my life. A posse was going to hang me, but this wise old oak would not let them. As a token of my gratitude to that tree, I used it for furniture instead of firewood.
