Who wants to be the unsung heroes of my voiceless choir quartet? We’re the Helen Kellers, and I’m holding auditions with oven mitts, because they’re sure to be hot.
The ultimate dead end is murder. My house is on a dead-end street, and it’s killing me. My house is so small it’s trying to suffocate me.
We were divided by color. Not black and white, but colour/color. She was British, and I was honoured to engage her in a spelling debate.
I ordered an extra large handshake to go, but I had no idea it would be so greasy—or that it would leave a stain on my crotch. Ugh, politics!
His last name was Worthless. Or was that just the perfect word to describe him? Shouldn’t our names summarize who we are? If so, I want to be called Al Auttalovetogive.
My lucky rabbit's foot has kept me alive all these years. Hopefully it will do so indefinitely. Immortality through sheer luck.
I still remember my middle school locker combination. Maybe I should go back to my old locker to see if I left my innocence in there.
In my view, a Cyclops is halfway to being blind. Love sees all. When someone insults me and I go silent, I’m in Helen Keller mode. Listen!
She wants the kids, the cars, the house, and the white picket fence. I said sure, I can give you a fence.
Don’t be surprised if I try to stab you with a club sandwich sword. I will defend your right to free speech at any cost—including killing you.
I'm not fluent in affluent. Still, I’m grin rich, and my smile stretches from yesterday to tomorrow. You should kiss me on today.
I got offended when she laughed, because she was showing pleasure, but she was also showing displeasure—in all the previous moments where she hadn’t laughed.
I want to hold my grandpa in my arms and pet him while I fall asleep. That’s why I’m learning to play the guitar.
Science doesn’t listen. Science has mice growing out of its ears. Wait, I mean human ears growing out of its mice.
An ear shaped like a question mark is not receptive to life’s answers.
By the time I tell you to start doing something, it’s time for you to stop listening and start doing. Especially if what I tell you to do is start listening.
This place reminds me of the time I had amnesia. I think. It also reminds me of being in love. That must mean I’m lost.
I buy the most expensive trash bags, and the lowest quality products to consume and throw away. As a lover, I’m always thinking about the end user.
I want to buy “A Touch of Gray,” because I’d look more distinguished with a touch of gray in my hair. Also, geriatrics make better lovers.
II’m proud to say that over the past few years there’s been considerable disinterest in my work. But things should pick up once my forklift arrives.
I wish I had five wives, one for each day of the workweek. This would leave me the weekends to enjoy time with my two mistresses.
