I have an Unexplained Flying Erection. I also have a floating picture of my dead grandma. The two are unrelated. Long live the queen!
Don’t sell yourself short—sell yourself medium, because it’s taller. Did you know my love is refillable? For just .99 cents.
I’m a one-man show. I need to start a band. You wanna join? Too bad! What about one-man band don’t you understand?
We made love like two meows having their tails stepped on. There were three of us there, and I’ve always wondered: Who were those two other people?
What if a statue of me walked past my clone frozen in thought? Which one of the two would make a better quarterback than Geno Smith?
I make cuddles the way I make clam chowder—without complaining and without jelly. If you assume the position, I’ll put the biscuits in the oven.
What I did I can’t undo. But I can address it, and undress you.” This is the chorus in a new song I’m writing called “Mannequin Love.
We shouldn’t eat raw food. In fact, we probably shouldn’t even be listening to the radio. Too much nudity soaking in through our ears.
Noon yellow is needed to combat my inner albino. But I prefer spreading my shadow thin like mayonnaise. Ours is a nighttime love.
Your dog looks dirty. You could give it a bath, or I could piss on it for free. Or you could pay me to piss on it, that’d work too.
After being videotaped, I found that I talk a lot with my hands. Especially if my hands are covered with socks. I guess I get really nervous on first dates.
I’m a fan of Meatloaf. He has a voice like it’s covered in thick gravy. There’s nothing better to make love to, with the possible exception of grandma’s casserole.
Love sounds like an elephant weighs. I know, because I’ve seen it with my own two nostrils. I’ve grown fat on the scent of Helen Keller’s memory.
Americans wouldn’t be in the economic predicament we’re in, if there were no America. So we can all thank our founding fathers for America’s current monetary nightmare.
I am the captain of Team Erica. And if your name is Erika, I’m sorry, but you can’t join. Also, anybody named Eric A. is also not eligible.
What does it mean to be the best? It means you have to be better than the number two guy. But what gratification is there in that? He's a loser—that’s why he's number two.
Love is a bicycle with two pancakes for wheels. You may see love as more of an exercise in hard work, but I see it as more of a breakfast on the go.
People always say I have hands as large as the Roman Empire. I guess it just goes with the territory. Romance, it’s all in the gloves.
Pele popularized the bicycle kick, and I created the unicycle kick. It’s like the bicycle kick, only it requires more balance and one less wheel.
I steal cracker packets. I hoard them. Once my collection is large enough, I’ll take them to the flea market and try to sell them to discerning lovers.
She grew broccoli, and I grew dentures. We were perfect for each other. Our love disappeared into each other like a box of toothpicks.
