He doesn’t have sex with sheep—he sleeps with scapegoats. He is my father, and I haven’t seen him since before I was born.
Hoping you were the first to do something, and fearing you weren’t the first, won’t change the future by altering the past. If you can’t be Neil Armstrong, then be Neil Armstronger.
After a lot of stalling and posturing, I finally admitted I had feelings for her. Most notably I felt anger and resentment, and a few less positive emotions.
I know she is going on vacation, so I knitted her a sweater. It matches the bathing suit I knitted her, and it’s as revealing as my feelings for her.
Most people fight with their fists. But I fight with my legs. I fight to stay, but they fight to run. Luckily for them, I don't fight very hard.
You don’t need to have a fight before great sex. I can keep my cool and still bring the heat every time.
To show you how much I love you, I’d take you to the moon and back. Or try to fake it in a film studio.
I want to merge oven mitts with boxing gloves, so I could effectively, and safely, fight fires. After all, fire fighters make better lovers.
A flowing flurry of flowers fell to the floor when I fell in love, as if my heart were a garden that gushed forth and flooded her being with the fragrance of romance.
I look for patterns that nobody else does. Like I noticed that my face looks like a tablecloth. Especially when I have food all over it.
At the potluck, I brought two dishes: knowledge and mashed potatoes and gravy. Guess which one got cleaned out and which one hardly got touched.
Good things come to those who ate. And I’m stuffed. Like a teddy bear. That might be why I’m the World Cuddling Champion.
The best part about a murder mystery dinner, of course, is the dinner. I make a killer Bubble and squeak, if you know what I mean. The mystery, of course, is what's in the dinner.
My love for you is like food for a statue. My love is like anything from McDonald’s, because it will never decay and always looks brand new.
Things I can’t live without: food, water, love. But not her love, because I haven’t had that in a long time, yet I’m still alive.
I used to think how lucky she was to have me, but now I realize that’s backwards. A spirit of gratitude yields patience, love, and forgiveness.
Feel free to become a slave to your own clone. And mine. Remember, you can never have too many lovers who look exactly the same as me.
Freedom isn't free. But there are some really great coupons if you know where to look. Buy one liberty, get the next one half off.
The Mythical Mr. Boo has several eagle feathers, or “Freedom Feathers,” as he likes to call them, that he staples to his chest in protest of any kind of bloodshed.
I wrote a thesis on love, and I wrote it in lipstick. Of course, I also got blood on the paper, because the lipstick was still attached to her cheating lips.
If I could store any character quality in a cookie jar, I’d store patience. Chocolate-chip patience cookies. And I’d eat them all at one sitting.
