You used to love me. Let me help jog your memory by buying you some running shoes. The shoes will be wooden, and nailed to the floor.
I haven’t shaved in days. There are literally thousands of peaches waiting for me. I’ve been so busy loving that I haven’t been able to assist the Official Barber of Georgia.
The ocean in the sky keeps my love fresh like boat shoes that are too big to fail. My heart is flooded with feelings like Noah one knows.
I am the ghost in the empty jar. My silence belongs in the cemetery, just like all my ex girlfriends. Long live love!
I make love like a backseat, not on a backseat. I’m both in motion, yet stationary. I would encourage you to encourage your mom to buckle up.
When your soul gets dry, you could either water it with alcohol—or love. You could use water, but remember—there can only be one Michael Phelps.
Love is a tomato. And while it's true that I can live without a tomato, I could sure go for some ketchup.
I am the washing machine of love. And if you have no idea what I mean, maybe it’s time to let some laundry into your life.
Eating a plain bagel with no cream cheese is like eating the inner tube of a bicycle tire, and I’d rather ride my roller skates to work.
Do you know how much laughter is in a single bag of chips? Enough to feed a seriously starved midget for a week. Now with 33.3% reduced fat!
I won’t put up with a woman who tries to put me down. But I might put out if she lets me put it in.
I think good advice for a father to give to his only son would be, "Don't make the same mistake I made with your mother. Remember to pull out.
We were wearing diapers at the same time. We didn’t grow up together, however. I was in the crib, and she was playing cribbage in the nursing home.
Even when we’re old, I’ll still look at you with the same eyes. (Who else’s eyes am I going to look at you with?) My love for you is Louis Braillesque.
How many birthdays can you fit in a shoebox? I guess that depends both on how old you are, and what size shoe you wear.
Love is to beer as I am to drunk. And you say I’m not romantic. Shoot, I’m so romantic I could just puke.
The clouds rolled over the hills like a pack of midgets wearing gray togas somersaulting in unison, and I thought it’s a glorious day to be alive and in love.
Coffee has a way of falling into my cup the way love does not. I’m so tired of being a lone sip when I should be a chug.
I like being right more than I like keeping friends. Certainly this leaves me lonely, but at least I’m always certain.
Work hard or don’t work hard, either way your hair will turn gray. I should let you be alone while you die, slowly.
If science took my IQ and spread it evenly among the world's population, like mental mayonnaise, we'd have more art, less war, and higher cholesterol.
