He met her because I didn’t show up that day and he went in my place. If they get married, I should be the best man. I am Invisible Cupid, so where’s my monument to love?
I pee in the sink, so I can save time by washing my hands at the same time that I am urinating. I’ll bet you’re wondering where my favorite place to make love is.
I sorted my sordid sort ofs from my maybes. Then I made love like never before. Seriously, I’d never made love before, and I have to say, it didn’t cost me as much money as I expected.
I told her, “I admire your mustache madam, but I wonder, what’s for dessert?” Knowing her and knowing me, she probably thought I meant I love you.
I wore a hat, to compensate for the fact that my pants were unzipped. When we made love, she asked if I brought a condom, so I showed her my tube socks. I brought two, for twice the protection.
My meeting was at 9:00 AM, and I walked in the room at 9:01. She said, “You’re late.” I stopped, my jaw open and slack, because I knew she was right. I was late—but for what? I was late for love.
When the sky is blue, I think of her. When the sky is gray, I think of her. When the sky is black, I think of her. But when the sky is orange, I think of juice, and how I am thirsty—for her love.
I tried picking my nose once, but I was too indecisive. I would tell you I love you, but I can’t decide if maybe I’m not really in love with your clone.
From across the bar, I saw her see me seeing her see me, and I knew that she knew, and with all this knowledge and vision I figured it must be love. But I could be wrong, because it turns out that I need glasses.
Words can have a healing effect. The words “I love you” can stop bleeding faster than a Band-Aid. It’s true. It worked for me after I stabbed my grandpa.
Love me for me, not for how much I resemble my clones, or how handsome they are, or how brilliant they are, or how much you want to have sex with all of them, at once, in my basement, while I film.
The only drink I like ice in is water, because you can’t water down water. I’m like that with love, too. Don’t you dare add any ice to the hot liquid loving I’m trying to pour all over you.
You tell me you love me, but I’m not sure you know what love is, or how fast it flies, or how much it resembles a UFO, or what kind of weapon you’d use to shoot it down.
3.5 billion men in the world all share one I love you. That’s why men rarely say it, because there is only one in the world for the whole gender to share and take turns using.
Love is a gift that costs nothing to give. Love is also the most valuable thing in the world. Think about that next time you’re tempted to call me a cheap bastard because I didn’t buy you a birthday present.
A rose will wilt in short time, but my garden is more vivacious for having one in it. Love is even more fragrant, but often just as fragile and fleeting, but I eagerly accept the joy of it now, knowing the cost is the pain of loss later.
Who’d win in a battle of who has the most love, me or Cupid? My money’s on me. Literally. All the money I have in the world is on me at the moment. And if you feel like betting, $7.37 would get you $14.74.
I fed her a placebo, a sugar pill, and then tried to sugarcoat the truth. The truth was I was lying when I said I loved her. Oh, I it was true I loved her, but not when I said I did.
I figured out why I have such big hands. It’s to hold all the love I have to offer the world. So don’t get mad at me when I make you bring in all the groceries, because my hands are already full.
Statues look like people, but people shouldn’t act like statues—you know, be set in their ways like stone. I make love like a sculptor paints, minus the wine, plus the grape juice. Suck me like a straw, rubber band legs.
Everything can be used as a weapon, including love. My love looks like a butter knife, but I assure you, it is quite deadly. I would demonstrate, but I’m right in the middle of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so you’ll just have to bel...
