A gun that shoots out rainclouds is a delayed water gun. I need to just pull the trigger and tell her I love her, but I’ll wait until her umbrella is open and her bathtub full of coffee.
I could either buy one missile, or 88,000 cups of coffee. Both would wake me up, but the coffee would also wake up North Korea. I’ll go with the coffee.
I use one word to ward off love: No. She used no words to ward of love. Seriously, she tells me nothing, and in this way she tells me she doesn’t love me.
I can’t remember the last time I had fun. Wait, yes I can. It was 1989, and I was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Communism, like the mullet, will never go out of style.
If I were alone with my clone, and we were enjoying each others' solitude, I'd have finally have met a man with whom I could hold a conversation consisting entirely of the repetitive response, "Yes, I agree!
I was eavesdropping, but I was so into what she was saying that when she said, I love you, I almost shouted it back from across the restaurant.
My belief is that during conversations, it’s not so much what you say, it’s how you say it that matters. What’s being heard is secondary to what’s being seen, as body language leads the discussion and dictates the mood.
I have a recognition dance, to acknowledge that I heard and understood you. So when Savannah says she loves me, and I reply by doing the Charleston, I’m just trying to show my love for her.
A fan can be used as a listening device, pushing sound waves towards your ears, along with cool air. I listen harder than a hurricane, and that’s why I have a vacant and evacuated expression.
After the first meal with a new girlfriend’s family, I always like to say, “Will you folks excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom and vomit now. Gotta keep the weight off somehow. Plus, your cooking is terrible.
I got a small package in the mail today, and I thought it was the midget stripper I bought off eBay. But it was just a pair of shoes I ordered. Didn’t matter, I still made them dance for me.
Her boyfriend can’t hold a candle to me. Especially not while I’m holding the strobe light. It’s hard to do modern dancing when you’re living like it’s 1882. Still, I make it look pretty easy.
I don’t care if you live by the motto: let the chips fall where they may, but don’t you dare spill the salsa. Not unless you’re holding it while we’re enjoying romance in motion known as salsa dancing.
There is nothing more enjoyable than being a member of an enlightened group of people that meets in complete darkness in complete secrecy. I have no idea why the other members joined, when they joined, how they joined, or if, in fact, there are any o...
If somebody wanted me dead, I’d try to convince them to wait 25 years, for technology to arrive, so they can go kill my clone. It’s a win-win for me and them, but not for my other me.
I love how sincere she is. She makes a mannequin look like Mother Theresa, though she looks better naked. And I hope she thinks I look better naked than a dead woman.
The whole world is dying. Just too slowly and naturally for my liking. Somebody should poison the food by genetically modifying it somehow. But even if that happened, nobody would be stupid enough to buy it—let alone eat it—would they?
My plan to live from 65 to forever is to simply keep showing up. I also don’t want to retire at the same age as a road’s speed limit—unless that speed limit is 35. Live slow, die old.
One of the things you never want to be in this life is boring. But once, sad to say, I put my cat to sleep. Who knew you could euthanize any living creature by reading it a political speech?
Instead of making trash cans cylinder shaped, they should make the mold look more like a person, to help with that ever baffling question: Now that I’ve killed him, what do I do with the body?
I’m claustrophobic. Your love is suffocating me and making me panic like the Crash of ’29. Just give me some space, and soon I’ll be all 1930 and we can try to make things work.
