I want to merge oven mitts with boxing gloves, so I could effectively, and safely, fight fires. After all, fire fighters make better lovers.
A flowing flurry of flowers fell to the floor when I fell in love, as if my heart were a garden that gushed forth and flooded her being with the fragrance of romance.
I look for patterns that nobody else does. Like I noticed that my face looks like a tablecloth. Especially when I have food all over it.
At the potluck, I brought two dishes: knowledge and mashed potatoes and gravy. Guess which one got cleaned out and which one hardly got touched.
The best part about a murder mystery dinner, of course, is the dinner. I make a killer Bubble and squeak, if you know what I mean. The mystery, of course, is what's in the dinner.
My love for you is like food for a statue. My love is like anything from McDonald’s, because it will never decay and always looks brand new.
Things I can’t live without: food, water, love. But not her love, because I haven’t had that in a long time, yet I’m still alive.
I used to think how lucky she was to have me, but now I realize that’s backwards. A spirit of gratitude yields patience, love, and forgiveness.
Sell canoes to those who are enduring a drought, and sell sunscreen to those suffering from flooding. But give love freely to all, because samples encourage sales.
Feel free to become a slave to your own clone. And mine. Remember, you can never have too many lovers who look exactly the same as me.
Freedom isn't free. But there are some really great coupons if you know where to look. Buy one liberty, get the next one half off.
The Mythical Mr. Boo has several eagle feathers, or “Freedom Feathers,” as he likes to call them, that he staples to his chest in protest of any kind of bloodshed.
I wrote a thesis on love, and I wrote it in lipstick. Of course, I also got blood on the paper, because the lipstick was still attached to her cheating lips.
If I could store any character quality in a cookie jar, I’d store patience. Chocolate-chip patience cookies. And I’d eat them all at one sitting.
We had a blast at my magical birthday party. There were midgets, fairies, glass slippers, and I actually got to ride in a pumpkin.
How to duplicate yourself: hang out with the same people and say the same things all the time. The you of today is a clone of the you from yesterday.
I told her I'd rather talk about her, instead of listening to her drone on about the weather. Little did I know she was an aspiring meteorologist.
I don't understand people who say they need more "Me Time." What other time is there? Do these people spend part of their day in someone else's body?
I want to fill a jar with a lot of clapping, and sell my applause next to the applesauce in a grocery store. You can eat the praise you didn’t earn, but did pay for.
I want to mass produce wretchedness. An unsatisfactory factory. Then I want to produce cologne and stench—at different ends of the production line. So it would be an olfactory factory.
Labels are necessary, for dating purposes. I’m not talking about gay versus straight. I’m talking about milk versus its expiration.
