The Mile High City has mile-high expectations. That’s 5,280 feet, you know. That’s five millipedes and 2.8 centipedes for all you lovers out there.

I’d rather have a horse in a glass, because I’ll be just down the hall if you need me. My affection is fluid, so why won’t you let me love you?

Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!

My boxers should require batteries, because I’m such an exceptional lover that pizza delivery people call me for carry out. 30 minutes or less—as if!

Broccoli, it’s what’s for breakfast. This morning let us make love like we’re both still asleep. I’ll hit the snooze if you find the lube.

I called her Nebraska, because she was from Iowa. We made love like the Midwest. Well, not all of it. More like the Midwest minus Kansas, if you know what I mean.

I knitted a sweater to look like a swimming bird, and pretty soon the whole world looked like it tasted like duck soup. My love is coffee-shaped and without chug.

I told her, “I admire your mustache madam, but I wonder, what’s for dessert?” Knowing her and knowing me, she probably thought I meant I love you.

We like to take credit when we get a new idea, as if we originated the idea in our brain, but what we actually did was no less extraordinary: we channeled the idea.

I tried picking my nose once, but I was too indecisive. I would tell you I love you, but I can’t decide if maybe I’m not really in love with your clone.

To be CREATIVE, you have to be CRAZY, not because you're CRAZY or want others to become CRAZY, but because you must be CRAZY, before others become CRAZY for you.

A dream is your creative vision for your life in the future You must break out of your current comfort zone and become comfortable with the unfamiliar and the unknown

We ate soup in the pouring rain. I said I liked it, even though it was a bit too watery for my taste. Then we made love like two rainbows sizzling in a pan like bacon.

I wear my love like a sweater made out of kitten licks. Weezer wrote about my love with their song, “The Sweater Song.” Cats find that song very cleansing.

I shed my clothes like a garage doesn’t shed—and a shed doesn’t garage. Then we made love like neighbors, so close, yet separated by several barriers.