If you want walking dolphins and talking sandwiches, you’re lucky to have me buying shoes for you—and selling them to you. I’ll give you the best price (for myself), because business is better when love is the only consideration.
Apple juice looks so much like urine that the only way to tell them apart is to remember that I keep my pee in the fridge, and the apple juice in the toilet. Help yourself to something to drink. Just flush if you want a refill.
My favorite unit of time is the hour, because I collect them and store as many as 10 new and unused ones each night to use after I’m dead. The best time to make love to me is right after I’ve fallen asleep.
I don’t like it when I have guests over and my girlfriend doesn’t wear pants and makes sock puppets with stinky socks and does impressions of my visitors with a falsetto voice. It’s embarrassing. I hate when she steals my routine.
I sometimes lie awake at night wishing I had all the answers. But I guess only God has all of them, while I only have one answer: I do. Now I just have to wait for the perfect question to use it on.
The girl who did my oil change was so sexy that after she was done, I drove nonstop 2500 miles one way, just so I could immediately turn around and drive back with a reason to see her again.
I’m aloof in love, like a single horse hoof. All I need to ride off into the sunset is one woman—with three legs. I’m on the lookout for a Buy One Pair of Shoes and Get One Half Pair Half Off deal.
I combined a unicycle with coffee table legs. You know, for balance and sexual stamina. I make love like I’m at the drive-thru, and I am, because I’m in a rush and I don’t have time to go all in.
If you party, then I Ben. I’ve been Benning since the beginning. If this doesn’t make sense to you, then you are not alone. And thank God, because is there any worse feeling than being alone? Well, besides being confused.
Love is a hooray in your heart. How can I describe how I feel about her except to say it’s almost like swimming in hot nacho cheese sauce, being chased down by a stoned Michael Phelps.
I am two Jennifers away from making love to an Emily. It always seems like two people with one name are constantly standing in the way of my dreams. I wish they’d step aside so I could introduce myself.
I'm a year older than 365 days ago, and I'm having trouble bending my knees and my lower back is killing me. Everything reminds me of death. Especially bending over all day to steal the flowers off all the graves in the cemetery.
I didn’t do it in 1066. But I’m only not guilty because I wasn’t quite alive then. The ferocity of the Normans not named Norman is underestimated in history, and I fear neither woman nor man. But one thing that does terrify me is hermaphrodites...
I think it would be funny to dye somebody’s pool red and then throw dead fish in it. And before you run out of there, you could leave a stone tablet with these words etched in: God is angry with you and has decided to go all Egypt on you.
Art is like a kite with an airplane propeller, OK? Artists are like people who have scuba tanks for lungs, OK? And critics are like a box of forgotten leftovers in my fridge from a few years ago, except they’re not as welcome at my dinner table, OK...
I drew a portrait of an invisible man on a nice canvas, because that's all you see. Oh, and I used a nice frame. I think that's important. I believe the best art uses the most imagination.
If I wouldn’t have looked under the hood, I’d have never noticed the problem. But as far as I know, the problem didn’t exist before I opened the hood. So did I cause the problem by becoming aware of it, or was it already there regardless of my ...
Ever since the day I came out of the womb, I’ve had impeccable timing. For example, I somehow managed to be born on the exact day of my birthday. And I wasn’t even trying, though my mother did push me along a bit.
I’m always 15 minutes early for everything. In fact, I was born 15 minutes early. That’s why my love is always a bit premature. But don’t worry; just give our relationship a minute—plus fourteen more.
A magician who could make the audience’s problems disappear—now that’s someone I’d pay to throw tomatoes at. If I didn’t have any problems, I’d still have a problem, because I’d have nothing to blame my failures on.
People who collect books, and categorize them by Roy G. Biv instead of alphabetically, are displaying the fact that their books aren't meant to be read, but merely looked at. And while they are busy looking at the rainbow of books, they're missing th...
