We were wearing diapers at the same time. We didn’t grow up together, however. I was in the crib, and she was playing cribbage in the nursing home.
I’m people wealthy. My grandchildren have grandchildren, some of whom are even older than me.
Even when we’re old, I’ll still look at you with the same eyes. (Who else’s eyes am I going to look at you with?) My love for you is Louis Braillesque.
How many birthdays can you fit in a shoebox? I guess that depends both on how old you are, and what size shoe you wear.
Love is to beer as I am to drunk. And you say I’m not romantic. Shoot, I’m so romantic I could just puke.
The clouds rolled over the hills like a pack of midgets wearing gray togas somersaulting in unison, and I thought it’s a glorious day to be alive and in love.
Coffee has a way of falling into my cup the way love does not. I’m so tired of being a lone sip when I should be a chug.
I like being right more than I like keeping friends. Certainly this leaves me lonely, but at least I’m always certain.
Work hard or don’t work hard, either way your hair will turn gray. I should let you be alone while you die, slowly.
If science took my IQ and spread it evenly among the world's population, like mental mayonnaise, we'd have more art, less war, and higher cholesterol.
Your impression of me is different than my impression of me. But that’s OK, because your impression is impressionistic, like a Monet painting, while mine is realistic, like a Rembrandt.
If I took a candy bar, ripped off the wrapper, ate the candy bar, and pinned the wrapper to the wall, is that art, performance art, both, or neither?
I want to be the guy who the guy you admire admires. I hope his name is Guy, because I admire M.C. Escher.
The world is my canvas, and my ponytail is my paintbrush. Helen Keller probably had a ponytail too, though my art has more vision. Barely.
Drawing on my past experiences, I used a lot of erasers. My aging wisdom is starting to look a lot like a nude portrait of Alice Neel.
I should charge my bank money every time I endorse the back of a check. What is the going rate these days for the autograph of an aspiring writer?
One great thinker said one thing, another said another, and while the two thoughts are contradicting, the one that backs my argument at the moment is the superior statement.
Awesome is a substance I sell in times of peace. And despair. It’s slippery and smells like freedom, so do not attempt to apply it anally. That advice is mostly directed at politicians.
I’m trying to cover all my bases so I can be a complete baseball nonplayer. I’ve already not bought a bat, a glove, and a bed to sleep on.
While I’m no Major League Baseball prospect, I have thrown a few no-hitters in my day. And not only were there no hitters, there was also nobody there to catch.
In a battle, an army of farts would surely beat an army of noses, even if those noses were armed with fingers that could flick long-range boogers.
