Men will tolerate what they are used to, even if it’s intolerance. That’s why I still drink milk, even though I’m lactose intolerant. Mamma didn’t raise no bigot.
There’s bacon in my bed. Extra crispy, like the fresh dollar bills stuffed in the mattress. I make love like I make sure I’m prepared for the next financial crisis.
She asked for all my love, and I said, “Sure, let me just go to the nearest ATM.” I wonder if she knows it’s all fake and inflated.
I’m two quarters the way to having 50 cents. That’s right, I have one quarter. But I’m also one quarter in love, and I feel rich!
I rearranged the letters of the word “neologism” to make the word neologism itself a neologism, as well as an anagram. The new word I made? It happens to be the name of the spaceship I’m building: Moon Legs I.
At five in the morning, I was half asleep. The whole left side of my body was taking a nap. Seems I’m also always half in love, from my waist down.
If you were to ask me what kind of musical sound I aspire to produce, that noise would be a wet nipple sliding across a cheese grater. I’m a sucker for love songs.
If I had my clone take a test for me, it’s likely I’d misspell my own name. And I’m terrible at remembering people’s names—even if that person is me.
It’s hard to maintain dignity while wearing a coat made out of peacock feathers and pants made out of geriatric human flesh. Still, every other weekend, I have to try.
If God had wanted men to swim, he would have taught fish to fish. But fish don’t fish, and neither do I, but it’s also the reason I don’t swim.
I’m in the middle between a pessimist and an optimist. I take full responsibility for the glass half full. Well, I take half-full responsibility. But if it were full of beer, I’d take full responsibility.
Of all the pessimistic people, I am the most optimistic. I look forward to looking down on all the people looking up to me for answers from below.
I’d like to let another person reveal my personality, and I’d like this person to be my clone. My clone would see me from the inside, as well as the outside.
If I were stranded in the woods with nothing to eat but nuts, berries, and the complete works of Allen Ginsberg, I’d eat the latter first, because at least the nuts and berries might be inspirational to my poetry.
My love life is modeled after being muddled. I have a relationship like the one between you and your elected official—and your elected official and the lobbyists.
I’m tired, and I just want to take a nap. But I want some good sleep, so does anybody know where I can go take in a political speech?
My brakes sound like my horn, and my car’s bumper is bumpy enough to be brail. My ideal reader would be a speed-reading blind politician I didn’t vote for.
I always lift both lids of the toilet seat before I pee. Then I sit down while tinkling. If you think that’s crazy, then you haven’t seen a Florida gubernatorial debate.
I don’t break wind—I repair it. I am the anti politician, because when one speaks, he farts through his mouth, and the people always suffer.
If I say your breasts are perfect, don’t tell me I’m wrong—prove me wrong by showing me. If more people voted with their wallets, more strippers would be elected officials.
An anonymous man has no power, because nobody knows who he is. But he also has all the strength, because he can attack invisibly and without being identified.
