A smoke, a book, a cup of coffee. These are the little things that get us through this sometimes weary world and all the rainy days.

When rain comes down, the chance of rainbows goes up. Likewise, when my coffee goes down, I wake up. Hopefully I wake up in your bed.

Love is a lot like coffee, I once thought as I suckled on a milky nipple. But I was one at the time, so what did I know about coffee?

The only time I drink milk is when I drink coffee. I make love the same way—contributing 2% as I just sort of lay there.


I’m a romantic. I like cold coffee and orgasms that arrive fifteen minutes after I’ve put on my clothes and paid the lady.

I want to start a band called the Band-Aids. Free coffee for all who come to our show. We’d perform for the deaf and the asleep.

After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me.

I need my tropical square boots, and a fish that when it swims looks like my squiggly signature. Also, I could go for a cup of coffee.

I love Blue Ribbon coffee, and she loves Red Ribbon coffee. I don’t love her, because how could I love someone who loves losers?

Good days are ahead of me. But so is the worst day of my life—my last day. I need a cup of coffee large enough to take a bath in.

I had a dream about you. You brought me coffee. I brought you misery. It was Starbucks’ coffee, so I thought it was a fair trade.

In exchange for my silence, I want a box of quiet. Empty—and full.
That’s also how I like my morning coffee at night.

I collect kitchens, one empty coffee cup at a time. I wish they made dishwashers that cleaned with dreams, not laundry detergent.


My favorite salad dressing is vodka. And my favorite ice cream flavor is coffee, though I prefer it melted and hot enough to burn flesh.

Always choose the adventure ... unless, it's chilly outside and there's a cup of warm coffee resting near a book and comfy sofa.