I wear my love like a sweater made out of kitten licks. Weezer wrote about my love with their song, “The Sweater Song.” Cats find that song very cleansing.
Some things change, and some things stay the same. The things that change are the things that I wish stayed the same, and the things that stay the same are the things I wish changed.
If I were a robot, and I got cheated on with a vacuum cleaner, I’d question my cleanliness. I’d also wonder if dating a beautiful yellow bulldozer was wise. Is my bulldozer nothing but a gold digger?
Every new thought of mine is like my child. And as soon as it is conceived, I must abandon it. I might return to dote on it later, or I might try to strangle it or drown it with logic.
Control your temper, or it will control you. Sometimes even remotely, like a toy car. Christmas is coming up, and for only $44.44 I’ll sell you a gift that would be perfect for the child in your life.
In the future, it’ll be my child, but it will be my child’s life, so I must name it not for me, but for it. I like how that sounds. I think I’ll call it “It.” Boy or girl, It is perfect.
We’ll make plans on sticky notes and we’ll stick to them. We’ll get married, but only after we buy some milk, cereal, and a book of baby names.
I never scoff at coffins, because they’re like coffee cups you can bathe in. Well, coffins are like Starbucks’ coffee cups, only they have more life inside.
Like my grandpa, who dropped out of school to farm, I have a 4th grade education. Of course, I have a college degree, too. Both require the same reading level.
In the future, I’ll be furniture. Step on me now or sit on me later, but either way let me know how I can make you feel comfortable.
If body language is 90% of a conversation, then obviously what’s being said is only half as important as what’s not being said. And what are you saying? I can’t hear you when my back is turned.
When I smile, not only do my ears rise, but so does my listening ability. When my mouth goes all Helen Keller, you know I heard you.
Language is the proper way to communicate, followed closely by five balled up fingers forming a fist and flying at a face. Violence is never the answer—unless the question is: What the fuck are you going to do about it?
I hear what you say in what you don’t say, you see, because I’m a Helen Keller kind of communicator. Love is just as visible as invisible.
People say I can handle pressure, but there is one sporting competition where if I were in the finals, I’d surely choke, and that’s the hotdog eating competition.
In golf, you don’t beat the other golfers—you beat your self-doubt. That’s why I don’t play, because I can’t beat anyone—not even myself.
When I win, it’s because I’m skilled. When I lose, it’s because my opponent is lucky. But when I fall in love, it’s because I’m lucky and she’s skilled.
Winning the lottery is all skill, and that’s why I don’t play—because it would be unfair to all the other competitors. I’m like that as a lover too, always thinking about the other competitors.
Too many people talk about the weather, and not enough people talk about agriculture. When somebody says to me, "Beautiful weather we're having,” I always reply, "Irrigation and crop rotation.
Dinner was good. The conversation was great, but the food was bad, so it averaged out. I wish I were as good in bed as I am in the kitchen.
During conversation, I have no problem making eye contact—with myself in the mirror. Or with my clone, if he’s not rolling his eyes because he knows what I’m going to say.
