Her golden hair moved like a hundred moths, all trying to saturate themselves in sunlight, while his hair was spiked like cleats, and he wore a shoe for a hat. He said it helped him to headstands while looking up her dress.
A fish called Gilbert. But I just call him Gil to save some breath, so I can spend more time underwater petting him like I used to do to grandpa before he drowned.
My amazing feat features shoes (and feet)—it’s how far I’d walk for love. Guess how far? However far it is from the point I ran out of gas to wherever she is, assuming she’s hanging out at a gas station.
Like a boxer on a treadmill, I hit the ground running. It was my first time being in love, and if enthusiasm were a sport, I’d have been sponsored by Nike. Or Adidas, whichever offered me more money.
I don’t have a tan because I only come out at night. The only sun I get is reflected off the moon. I make love like a vampire, only entirely different and without completely filling up movie theaters with spectators.
I’ve wrestled an alligator before. It wasn’t alive, but I still pinned it down. I was trying to impress a woman, and I bet I did, because she went home with another man—but she was smiling, probably wishing he were me.
The love doctor, Orafoura, says there are two things that a guy can do to promote a healthy relationship: One, grow out a handlebar mustache, and two, grow a mullet. I don’t know, will radiating lust make me a better lover?
If love were a color, it'd be orange. Not because that's a romantic color, but because it's the sweetest. If you want to know how I feel about you, I just made some juice out of it. Grab a glass—a tall one.
I’m writing a book, one letter at a time. After thirteen days, I just finished writing “Once upon a time.” Since it’s a fairy tale, it’s obviously a romance novel, along the lines of “All Quiet on the Western Front.
Despite being named Scott, I really like not being named Scott. I make love like I have no idea what my name is or where I’m at or why there’s always one guy in the audience who’s heckling.
I made a t-shirt that says, "Today's my birthday" on it, so that I can ask for hugs from strangers and point to the text on my tee as the reason why they should oblige. It's not a once-a-year t-shirt, as I wear it every Tuesday.
The rocky terrain wasn’t the reason we were on uneven footing. She had no feet, and I was in love. We made love like Nickelback makes music—and I enjoyed it, but I wish the fans in the audience wouldn’t have screamed so loud.
Make yourself interesting to history. Master some aspect of life, and then find a different area and do something crazy. Become a painter, then round up a herd of cattle and slaughter them with your bare hands. Then collect their blood and paint a mu...
I love in all directions, except southeast. Don’t ask me why, because I already told you where. Also, don’t ask me who, because the list of who I love is as long as a phone book, though arranged by height, and not alphabetically.
My fur coat doesn’t need to be dry cleaned, because it’s self-cleaning. It’s constantly licking its fur to keep itself clean. Beats walking through a car wash, like I used to do when I worked for Joe Namath.
Boats should be shaped more like shoes. Better for dancing. The only thing I’m better at than dancing is making love, and grandmas all over Memphis say they haven’t seen moves like mine since after Elvis died.
A guy I grew up with recently died. I attended his funeral, but only because I thought there’d be free food afterwards. I brought to-go boxes with me. You know, to remember him for as long as I could.
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.
