My love may be invisible, but that doesn’t mean you can’t taste it. (It tastes like a sonic boom, only not as bitter).

A blanket could be used as an American flag. It could keep the world warm with its patronizing patriotism and imperialism. 


A blanket could be used to distribute ice cream to dyslexics. Blankets are cold and ice cream needs to be kept warm, right?


A brick could be used to flavor your bathtub water, and raise the fluid level, so you perceive that you have more to drink.


I love favors, because a favor is, instead of me doing something or paying you anything, why don’t you do it for me for free?

I welcome all You’re Welcomes with open arms and open zippers. My love for her is sandwiched between two slices of Thank You.

I put out the Greg Call, which sounds like a whistle-quack, and a few dozen Toms responded. The only time I need a Tom is tomorrow.

When you get lost in a really strange place, nothing is more comforting than found your friend whom you trust and can show the way.

With a palindrome of a name, like Bob, I’d be both right thinking and dyslexic. Would you love me more as a Bob, or as a Bob?

Bricks could be used to stock vending machines. You may be out of a home, but I’ll never be out of bricks to sell you.


I lay warm in bed like a melted marshmallow in a graham cracker. I really wish my blanket wasn’t so rigid and crumbly.


I want her when she doesn’t want me, and I don’t want her when she wants me. Now that’s love in the 21st century!

A brick could be used like a Viking skull holds soup. If you bring a spoon, I can quench your thirst—and your hunger. 


A brick could be dropped on your mother-in-law’s head from the height of 66.6 feet. You know, as a going away present. 


Of all the things I own, I’m most sentimental about my shoes, because they’ve traveled with me every step of my journey.