Don't mind her. She keeps her nose so high in the air, she's liable to drown in a good rainstorm.
She wasn't any bigger than a minute and had hair like wild gold, and she was always merry as a marriage bell.
I can tell if two people are in love by how they hold each other’s hands, and how thick their sanitation gloves are.
If love had feathers and tasted like dog food, then I suggest you wear shoes with your banana pudding. (This statement also defines my political beliefs).
My ex girlfriend, she gave great log cabin. But she couldn’t write a speech like Lincoln. So I grew a beard and broke up with her.
I want to type one of my books into a free online translation website, and convert it from English to German and then publish the results as an exercise in the absurd.
Let’s be romantic and dance in the rain. I’ll prove my feelings for you by bringing an umbrella, because I’m a bring my own garden kind of lover.
I gave my girlfriend a gallon of my semen and a minivan and told her to fill it up with kids. Big mistake! I should have given her a bus.
No more than two to a tricycle, please. When I said family fun, I didn’t mean this is a place to start a family. (Children over 65 eat free.)
If you’re getting up to cross the Sahara, I could sure go for a bottle of water. My thirst to love you will never be quenched.
Reginald “If” Ifa IV died today. His last words were, “Death, the great What if.” I dreamt this, but that doesn’t make it any less what iffier.
His voice is like 999 one-winged vultures, all flapping in unison, while 333 horned frogs croak in protest. My love must sound better to her.
I have a protective coating, like a tank. It’s called Love. And when I get you naked, I’ll want to make war to you.
I am the Secretary of Secrecy. I’ve got filing cabinets and safes full of Shh! That’s also where I store all my love for you.
Give me a bouncy ball. I’ve got some ideas I want to throw at you. Put on your squeaky shoes—we’ve got work to do!
A picture with one word on it is like a thousand-and-one-word piece of literature. At this rate, I should be done with my million-word novel in about 999 minutes.
The word “Word” is too long to be short, like a 4” tall non-midget. My favorite word is love, and though it’s not long, it’s by far the tallest word.
I am an orange construction cone, and I say to you, “Caution.” This is my advice for love—and for driving while blindfolded, which is safer than love.
I’m like a praying mantis, except not so devout. And I make love like a monk in meditation, which can often be confused with being asleep.
My sheep pants don’t make me one of them. However, 37 Brantleys made an appeal on my behalf, but I still have to take off my pants.
It is Father’s Day today. I should probably call all three of mine and say Hello, and thanks for possibly pumping my mom with the winning batch of semen.
