The scope of my problem will easily fit in the scope of my rifle. Too bad true love has to come with a mother-in-law.
She had no legs, so I made her wear suspenders and I carried her like a backpack. True love knows no luggage.
I’m like a sexually active bumper sticker. Canned vagina is always so hard to open and eat. Honk if you’re a lover—and in a hurry.
Through my quick action, I was able to capture her mannerism and store it in a jar. It looks like mayonnaise, but it tastes like love.
A few years ago I dropped off the face of the earth. Then I came back the next day to pick it up. Unfortunately, it was stained red with love.
While they had security escort me out of the building, they couldn’t forcibly remove the trophy from my anus. If love were a competition, I’d be the winner.
I welcome all You’re Welcomes with open arms and open zippers. My love for her is sandwiched between two slices of Thank You.
I shed my clothes like a garage doesn’t shed—and a shed doesn’t garage. Then we made love like neighbors, so close, yet separated by several barriers.
The best part about falling in love with a slab of meatloaf is now I get to use my ketchup-dispensing backpack when making love.
Your leftover meatloaf makes me horny. Let us make love like the first squirt from a new bottle of ketchup.
Love is the walrus I crayon with like it’s the Eifel Tower. I know, love doesn’t make much sense to me, either.
Love is a four-letter word. So is glue, only it isn’t as sticky. And I must admit, I still eat it all the time.
There’s no room for love in my life. My car trunk is already full of groceries, a spare tire, and two kidnap victims.
I knew we were destined to be lovers from the moment she tied me up and stuffed me in the trunk of her car.
As a lover I aim to please, and afterwards I aim at the toilet. Sometimes I miss, but no matter what, you’ll always receive splatters of intimacy.
Yesterday I shat rainbows until my anus started bleeding from a unicorn’s horn. Ah, the joys of being in love.
I saw her from across the room, and I knew I was in love. I also knew why I’d seen no urinals, as I was clearly in the wrong bathroom.
I think I found the love of my life. Boy, I’m glad I cleaned out my fish tank.
I didn’t have time to grow out a beard, so I glued a wig on instead. I make love like a hare in a tortoise shell.
We made love like steam meets mist. My memory is foggy, but I know I inhaled her essence like smoke.
Don’t keep me in the dark—let me take off my honorary Helen Keller blindfold and let’s make love like we have no senses except nonsense.
