My love is ripe for the peaching. Let me make Georgia to you all night long—and if I have the endurance, maybe even up to South Carolina.
We made love like a goat has four legs like a table. Cheese doesn’t just make itself by standing around all day drinking coffee, you know.
I gave her all the love I had to give—which wasn’t 100%, but rather 10%. The other 90% either evaporated or got stolen in the name of war reparations.
If love were a dolphin with wings and a unicorn’s horn, being ridden by a blind leprechaun dressed like Rasputin, would you believe in second chances for love at first sight?
I make love like I make coffins—with my bare hands, alone in my garage. On sale through Thursday—Buy One Funeral, Get A Second One Free!
I’m not a hillbilly—I’m a hillwilliam. Or, rather, a William Hill. That was my name at the last networking conference, when I stole a nametag to make friends without fear of insulting them with lasting consequences.
My Love Machine is tough. It’s built like a tank. At night I’m romantic and so Sun Tzu I’m Moon Tzu. Come, let me make you howl.
For dessert I ate a desert. It was sandy, and so was the name of the woman I ate dinner with. She had a dry sense of humor, and that is why I wore a raincoat.
Left-handed and eyes closed, it’s how I masturbate—while driving at night. If you want to know how I make love, you’re going to have to pay for admission.
My love may be invisible, but that doesn’t mean you can’t taste it. (It tastes like a sonic boom, only not as bitter).
I wear a glove to honor all the men who have given me a hand. And to think, out of all those men, they only had one hand. No wonder I never get any high-fives.
My kitchen sink has no truck attached. My love needs a waterproof suitcase in these Days of Desert and Dessert. Who are you going to come running to when the Ice Cream Man melts?
If I can delay your action with my inaction, then I’ll gladly do nothing for the good of the no good.
I’ve aged more this past week than I did in all six days that preceded it. Will you still love me tomorrow, when I’m an older man?
I’ll never be as old as someone older than me, but I can be older than them if I outlive their lifespan.
I am an uncle, though this is not a new feeling for me, as I’ve been one before. I’ve also been 2 through 32, and I turn 33 in March.
Women always want to look younger, and I always want to look older, so I could look like Pliny the Younger. As a lover, that would give me the best of both worlds.
Am I the only guy that holds a flute of champagne like it’s a musical instrument?
The woman I love rolled through town yesterday, and she didn’t even stop her wheelchair once as she passed through. I got so angry I had to walk it off.
People are so particular. Unlike animals, which can be lions, eagles, or sharks, people are only people. (Though some people can easily be mistaken for animals—namely politicians.)
My girlfriend bought me a collared shirt for my birthday, mainly so I don’t get too far ahead of her when she takes me for a walk.
