I’d rather have a horse in a glass, because I’ll be just down the hall if you need me. My affection is fluid, so why won’t you let me love you?
We ate soup in the pouring rain. I said I liked it, even though it was a bit too watery for my taste. Then we made love like two rainbows sizzling in a pan like bacon.
All the love I have left over from my last relationship is covered in tinfoil and labeled “Do Not Eat.” Since I don’t feel like cooking or making love, I’ll probably have it for dinner tonight.
I called her Nebraska, because she was from Iowa. We made love like the Midwest. Well, not all of it. More like the Midwest minus Kansas, if you know what I mean.
I am Kid Awesome, I kid you not. But I don’t think making love is childish—or for children, unless you’re doing it for children (to produce them, not to entertain them).
If I can scoop soup at 20 MPH while riding a three-legged horse, just imagine how great of a lover I am when I’m lying perfectly still.
The ice cube melted slowly like a candle, and I thought about my love for her and how it was like an ice cube candle and that I’ve always wanted to drink fire and make love with the ferociousness of a cooked spaghetti noodle.
I want to be loved, but first, I want to love. I’ll love you and we’ll both feel good, and if you love me too that’d be great, but not entirely necessary.
She wasn’t much for words, but she told me she loved me in other ways, like soft kisses, gentle caresses, and occasionally even acknowledging that I was also in the room with her and that other guy.
We were just kids, what did we know about love? I knew I loved her, and she knew she didn’t love me. Turns out we were both wrong.
Having to eat fruit drives me bananas. But it’s OK, I park. Then I pick up a hooker and make love like I’ve got no money. And I really don’t have any.
I think we all should be in love once in our lifetime, even if we’re in love with someone who’s not alive in our lifetime. Long distance relations are hard, especially when you’re separated by six feet of dirt.
I wish my nipples spiraled around and could play records. I could spin love songs while you made love to me like you were a DJ.
I loved her like the sun raining down on my skin. It was all so confusing, because was it raining or was it sunny? The answer is that love is always both, and that’s why I prefer umbrellas over condoms.
When I told her my love would stop her tears from falling, she started laughing. She laughed so hard she started crying. Damn. Double damn!
Helen Keller, she just can’t see how much I love her. Also, she acts like she can’t hear my crying out for her. #WCW
Even though I created an “Eat Bubblegum” dance, I can’t actually perform it because my belly doesn’t bulge out far enough. When I make love it sounds like I’m chewing on a chalkboard.
Love is like a spring rain on a sunny September morning. And when I go out on dates, I bring my own jars of pickles. Women probably find it not only practical, but devastatingly sexy.
I wear a tinfoil suit, because you never know when you’ll be going to the moon. I’ll probably have more luck finding the love of my life on a lonely and dead space rock.
She has a sly smile, and eyes that seem to see my essence as they explore my soul and implore my spirit to enter her. I look at her and I see love.
Normally I charge 60 cents on the dollar for stolen merchandise. But since it was my mother-in-law, and I stole it from her, I only charged her 50 cents on the dollar. That’s love.
