I fell in love like Mondays at noon. Too bad none were around to witness my epic Tuesday. Let’s make Wednesday one last time before you have to Thurday.
Pterodactyl has a silent P. I talk entire conversations using only silent letters. They're also invisible. My I love yous are camouflaged amidst my absence.
There’s a hair in my food! Well, I did order all the cuddles I can eat. A buffet of sleep is how I describe my love to strangers on trains.
My response landed me in hot water. A dirty dish also landed in hot water. If I weren’t such a raging feminist, maybe I’d buy a dishwater instead of scrubbing them all by hand.
We made love like a goat has four legs like a table. Cheese doesn’t just make itself by standing around all day drinking coffee, you know.
I gave her all the love I had to give—which wasn’t 100%, but rather 10%. The other 90% either evaporated or got stolen in the name of war reparations.
If love were a dolphin with wings and a unicorn’s horn, being ridden by a blind leprechaun dressed like Rasputin, would you believe in second chances for love at first sight?
I make love like I make coffins—with my bare hands, alone in my garage. On sale through Thursday—Buy One Funeral, Get A Second One Free!
I’m not a hillbilly—I’m a hillwilliam. Or, rather, a William Hill. That was my name at the last networking conference, when I stole a nametag to make friends without fear of insulting them with lasting consequences.
My Love Machine is tough. It’s built like a tank. At night I’m romantic and so Sun Tzu I’m Moon Tzu. Come, let me make you howl.
For dessert I ate a desert. It was sandy, and so was the name of the woman I ate dinner with. She had a dry sense of humor, and that is why I wore a raincoat.
Left-handed and eyes closed, it’s how I masturbate—while driving at night. If you want to know how I make love, you’re going to have to pay for admission.
My love may be invisible, but that doesn’t mean you can’t taste it. (It tastes like a sonic boom, only not as bitter).
I wear a glove to honor all the men who have given me a hand. And to think, out of all those men, they only had one hand. No wonder I never get any high-fives.
My kitchen sink has no truck attached. My love needs a waterproof suitcase in these Days of Desert and Dessert. Who are you going to come running to when the Ice Cream Man melts?
If I can delay your action with my inaction, then I’ll gladly do nothing for the good of the no good.
I’ve aged more this past week than I did in all six days that preceded it. Will you still love me tomorrow, when I’m an older man?
I’ll never be as old as someone older than me, but I can be older than them if I outlive their lifespan.
I am an uncle, though this is not a new feeling for me, as I’ve been one before. I’ve also been 2 through 32, and I turn 33 in March.
Women always want to look younger, and I always want to look older, so I could look like Pliny the Younger. As a lover, that would give me the best of both worlds.
Am I the only guy that holds a flute of champagne like it’s a musical instrument?
