It is not. The aspiring leader has been set up to fail. He just doesn't recognize it yet. The first few months go well, but reality soon sets in. It is not easy for one person to create change in a large corporation. After one year, the leader feels ...
Colors and scents evoke strong emotions. Lavender, both the light purple and the smell, make me feel tranquil. But another color, canary urine, reminds me of public bathrooms, and all the fond memories of waiting for Father.
My grandmother is dating a grandfather clock, and I’ve started wearing a wristwatch on my ankle. I also wear my love for Agatha like a raincoat, and I am jealous of every umbrella I see.
I don’t dwell on the fact that I may have ridden on planes. That which I can’t remember having needed, I simply accept. It is the most preferable kind of self-insight: one that does not require any accompanying change in behavior.
I can’t define what love is. That’s like eating a pancake with a waffle instead of a fork. But you know it when you feel it, like petting a cat wearing a synthetic fur coat.
As a lake is the reciprocal of an island, so Agatha is the soup to my spoon. She makes me feel like an apple and a doctor, keeping myself away from myself, like the yellow stripes yelling at the black bars of a bee.
This book is dedicated to all the lawn chairs in all the living rooms of the world. I pray this book provides your owners with the strength, courage, and the wisdom to vacuum their lawns and mow their carpets without the government having to interven...
I remember the second time I took Agatha out. I wanted to go to Dairy Queen, and she wanted to go to Burger King. In the end we settled for wieners and clams at Johnny Hermaphrodite’s.
If you look up to see a shooting star, you might miss the silver dollar on the sidewalk. But no matter where you look, or where you travel, you’ll never get lost or arrive late to your own death.
If I die, who’s going to take care of my shadow? Or will it return to the night, from whence it came? While I sleep at night I keep my shadow folded neatly in my underwear drawer.
The first time I saw Agatha she gave me a double wink. Most men might have interpreted it as a blink, but I saw it as a sexually developed ambidextrous double wink. Such talent! Such desire!
I made a graph of my emotions, a chart, and when I looked it over I was amazed to notice that the day Agatha broke up with me looked identical to the stock market crash of 1929. I thought I was the Irving Fisher of love.
I believe the love shared between two people shouldn’t be secretly shared with a third. Not even if I am vacationing on the moon, and that third person is my clone.
I told my doctor my penis was as thin as a spaghetti noodle. I asked if there was anything I could do to bulk it up, and he said, “Yeah, tell your girl to twirl it on a fork before she puts it in her mouth.
When I’m in a relationship, I love like a burrito. And if you’re a taco, don’t talk to me. At our core we may seem similar, but trust me, we are two different items on the menu.
I could name my penis Steve, and it would be appropriate, as it is sort of shaped like my dad’s face, whose name is Steve. Not just his face, but his whole body and person is named Steve. And he’s a dick.
I applied for your love like a recent MBA grad might apply at Walmart today. I grew a beard on my chest and laughed through my ass just to get your attention.
Agatha had so much love she could fill a room. A room filled with strange men, which she often did. I don’t care if every single man in that room looked exactly like me, they were strangers.
To me love is like a cup of soapy dishwater. Sure, I’ll drink it, but I won’t swish it around in my mouth while you try to stuff filthy silverware down my throat.
A customer facing crucial decisions: What should I wipe myself with? What should I brush with? His personal hygiene was deteriorating rapidly as he stared at the rows of possibilities, sweating profusely. Would he ever bathe again?
If I could convert my love into clay, and then shape it, I wonder if Agatha would expect a Rodin or a Branscusi. In reality it would be neither, as my love sculpture would look exactly like the Grand Canyon.
