If your breath smells like coffee, I might try to drink our conversation. Wake me up with the words you’re speaking.
Coffee, it’s love you can brew and drink. There is an edible kind of love, and if you’re interested, I make it by hand.
When you’re on your deathbed, you won’t regret not having spent more time cleaning. Buy brown carpet, to camouflage the coffee stains.
I treat strangers like friends, friends like family, and family like strangers. And I make love like a cup of coffee that likes a cup of tea.
I went on vacation and it rained like coffee drip brewing. It must have rained several inches, and all in a concentrated area about the size of a coffee pot.
I made dinner reservations for two, because I like eating alone. And I drink coffee by the bathtubful—but only while simultaneously taking a shower.
If I were handicapped, I’d travel by horse. Well, that’s assuming my wheelchair would be stable on the horse’s back. I’d be a coffee addict and porn historian.
Growing up I was so poor I wore coffee cups as shoes. The good part was my feet never fell asleep.
If you’re ever in a ghost town, it’s only appropriate to visit the cemetery. Also, ever thought that coffee’s steam is the rising soul of your dead sleep?
I drank the coffee because I was tired. I also drank the coffee because I was dominant, and it was passive and put up no fight.
Love is a lot like coffee, I once thought as I suckled on a milky nipple. But I was one at the time, so what did I know about coffee?
I couldn’t throw a basketball through a hula-hoop, but I could drink coffee through a fishing net. But why do that when I’d rather fish with a thermos?
I need my tropical square boots, and a fish that when it swims looks like my squiggly signature. Also, I could go for a cup of coffee.
Make time to make love. Then, after you’ve finished making love, make some coffee while I just lie in bed and quiver.
The smell of coffee was enough to wake up my neighbors. In a display of gratitude, they complained about my music being too loud.
I tried to wear my shirt while it was still on the hanger. That’s just the kind of morning person I am with no coffee.
One cup contains Starbucks coffee, and one holds diarrhea. But which is which? Drink it, and the one that doesn’t make you vomit is the diarrhea.
I should make a tongue condom shaped like an oven mitt, so my mouth’s spoken language muscle is protected from hot coffee.
I drink coffee like other men play basketball. I drink like a woman, and that’s why I use a slightly smaller ball.
In exchange for my silence, I want a box of quiet. Empty—and full. That’s also how I like my morning coffee at night.
If I were deaf, I’d wear loud clothing. My clothes would also be covered in coffee stains, because Helen Keller is my hero.
