I make love like you might make an omelet. At least, I’m hoping you might make an omelet, because I skipped breakfast like a child skips home from the class he just skipped.
Grandpa used to like gravy on everything, including his pancakes. If love could be eaten, I’ll bet he’d prefer it with gravy on top. And I’d have to agree. Love would taste better with gravy.
Love is like holding a baloney sandwich for a friend. That was over two years ago, and I’m still holding it. I wonder if he’s coming back any time soon. He must be starving by now.
I want to write a song about the only girl I’ve ever loved. And the chorus will say something like, “I really want to see you tonight, so I hope you leave your blinds open.
I’ll tell you what love is. Love is walking up and down Archer Road in Gainesville, Florida and feeling like Cupid. Too bad the cops took issue with me hitch hiking with a bow and arrow.
Love is a gift you receive by giving. The more love you give, the more love you get. Try it out today, and try it out with me. Go ahead—give me all your love.
I’m such a terrible speller that sometimes I misspell words so bad that they become unreadably readable. For example, I might misspell a simple word like “Love” and have it come out as the properly spelled “Hate.
Love is a universal language, and I have just created its alphabet. In written form, the letters are invisible; when spoken the words are inaudible; but when touched, the sentences are smooth, like freshly shaven legs.
Two butterflies in two socks could walk faster than I can run. A love song will jog your memory like I jog like Roger Bannister in a wheelchair.
Exchanging currencies from one country to another needs conversion, but not translation. Money, like love, is a universal language. However, you can’t debase love, no matter how much of it you pump into the world.
Just because I’m in love, doesn’t mean I think about her 24/7. No, I only think about her 23/7, because I need an hour a day to contemplate my mortality.
In the park I saw an empty bench, and I thought, “That’s like my love for her.” At first I was sad, but then I smiled when I realized I’m more of a sofa kind of guy.
Being negative, that’s no good. Also, being no good is no good. By your silence I can tell that you love me. Either that or you’re a disciple of Helen Keller.
I’ll bet you make love like an orca whale sings opera. How do you make love? Bjork Orca asked me. Like an orca whale sings opera, only with more wetness, more shattered glass, and less boredom.
Love is a bronze statue sinking in quicksand. But if I hand you a lasso, will you try to save the statue—or use the lasso to hang yourself? If you need me, I’ll be here to kick the chair out from under your feet.
I trained for months to be a boxer. Not Mike Tyson style, but more like Fed Ex. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Well, I’m not really a lover, but I am slightly more romantic than I am brave, and I’m not at all courageous.
I wake up to write stuff down all night. Useful things like this: To more efficiently make love nocturnally, I must combine the best characteristics of bats, bears, and my Uncle Norman who disappeared in the mountains in ’94.
After you first tell someone you love them, the weight of the wait for them to tell you they love you too feels like an elephant doing jumping jacks on the back of your mouse-like ego.
I had to hand it to him, leaving the empty glove lying on the bed was an apt metaphor for love. Two things I can say about my grandpa are that he is wise, and his left hand is probably cold.
She asked why I wanted to be friends, and I replied, “I love meatloaf.” Of all the things I could have said, that summed up what I hoped our relationship would one day become.
I introduced myself as the man who’d introduce her to her future husband. Then I called over my clone, knowing full well that after they’d fallen in love and gotten engaged, I was going to kill him and take his place.
