This guy’s got a mustache that’s made for TV. I’ve got a mustache that’s made for radio. I keep it zipped up quiet in my pants, next to my cigar.
If I were a betting man, and Thank Vegas I’m not, I’d say this bartender looks guilty of murder. Or maybe he just looks drunk. Possibly the two looks are identical.
This couple thought they were as smooth as crunchy peanut butter. But they didn’t fool me with their Bonnie and Clyde act. I knew they were guilty of being innocent the moment I saw them.
This picture has a lot of motion and features one person being forcibly removed. Reminds me of the commotion of my heart. Love is a lot like a crime scene.
This women is all about the kiss—the kiss of death. But if her sinister lips offer the joy of heaven, followed by the torment of hell, then I’ll be the first to pucker up.
She looks so serious. Why such a stern look? Oh yeah, somebody’s just been murdered. With all my diabolical laughter, I seem to have forgotten about that.
The guy in the white fedora looks like he’s reading a love letter. I say that only because he looks so confused, what else could the subject matter be?
- Just that. Your family must be very different from mine. - I’d say so. - I laughed. - For one, no one wears their tiaras to breakfast. - Maxon smiled. - More of a dinner thing at the Singer house?” - “Of course.
I love microwave dinners. I also like eating other appliances, like fridges and dishwashers.
Love is bringing an empty Tupperware container on your date, not to hold leftovers from dinner, but just in case your date really has to shit.
Nine out of ten people agree, it was right and just to kill and eat that one guy. That’s love. That’s democracy. That’s a free dinner.
Two become one when two are in love—or when the waitress asks about our dinner bill. I’ll pay next time, I promise.
She asked if I loved another woman, so I answered honestly and said, “Dinner was great, but I could go for dessert.
Then she squeezed me tighter. Her leg came up and wrapped around me. Then she kissed me too hard and our teeth banged together. I felt like a boa constrictor’s dinner.
I can talk to fish!" Angel said happily, water dripping off her long, skinny body. "Ask one over for dinner," Fang said, joining us.
She invited me out to dinner, and I declined saying I’m not a fan of big groups. She said it would be just us two, and I said, Like I said, I’m not a fan of big groups.
There is also a tradition about Socrates. He liked walking, it is recorded, until a late hour of the evening, and when someone asked him why he did this he said he was trying to work up an appetite for his dinner.
I’d hang a walrus on my wall, and I’d name him Russ. But I’m not a hunter—I’m a lover and a fisherman. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, if you want to take off your pants and wash up.
Yeah, the whole family knows. It's no big deal. One night at dinner I said, 'Mom, you know the forbidden love that Spock has for Kirk? Well, me too.' It was easier for her to understand that way.
Her coming alone made me want to Mannequin all over myself, but I managed to contain myself like a microwave dinner. Sometimes love is frozen until you get off your sofa to take action.
It's like the code of living by yourself. People who are single know what I'm talking about. You eat standing up, reading the paper. Or you say to yourself, this isn't even cutting it, I'm taking a TV dinner and I'm getting in bed here.
