I want to keep politics out of my breakfast. Politics isn’t something I want in my eggs, no matter how scrambled I like them.
Is it any wonder that war is senseless? It’s started by politicians. As a class, politicians have no class, and even less sense.
I stayed up all night making love—to myself. That reminds me, I need to buy some more Jell-O and political biographies.
Would you mind terribly if instead of serving desert, I masturbated quietly at the dinner table? I’m training for Congress.
How to grow up slowly and secretly, not all at once like lunch in a condom, that is the essence of politics. But I don’t vote for dicks.
Like a spy, I planted a bug. Like a farmer, I watched it grow into a politician that more than half the people chose not to step on.
Is a wind farm a field full of talking politicians? If so, I wonder what they grow? Probably the national debt.
I’m wise when it comes to your issues, and a fool when it comes to mine. Emotion is the blindfold we cannot see or feel we’re wearing.
Love is like a summer rainstorm in winter. Where I’m from that’s called romance. Where you’re from that may be called snow.
Dear mom, My lieutenant is a prostitute. Can you please send me more lunch money, as her rates have recently increased.
My grandpa never read the newspaper. Not because he was particularly optimistic, but because he was illiterate. He taught me to read by watching TV.
My ex girlfriend said she’d never cheat on me. Well, she did—with an accountant. Now I owe money to the IRS.
We broke up because we weren’t going anywhere. I kept telling her, Hitchhiking takes patience.
A man who claims to be 32 degrees is one freezing freemason. That man must make love with all the warmth of a shadowy secret.
I want to be a part of your world. Or, if that’s too much to ask, I’d accept being a part of your globe.
If love had the texture of a turtle, and the taste of a rabbit, would you say we’re moving too fast in our relationship?
Love is being able to be yourself, with another human being who makes you want to be better than yourself.
My name is my reputation. And all I have in this world is my name. Well, and my penis, which shoots out millions of other names.
If I were in Steve Prefontaine’s shoes, I’d have done the same thing he did. Except for all that running. I wouldn’t have done that.
In the long run, even a marathon looks like a sprint. This is how I can love with such Roger Bannisteresque intensity.
I walk slowly when I’m being introspective and nostalgic. Some might call it moping. But I don’t. I call it love.
