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 can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue. Now, if only I could do the same with my shoelaces, I wouldn’t have to banana pudding my way to success.

These are the words of a fool: I am happy to be a fool, for i won't spend my time gazing at lines difficult to decipher, while my mates are drinking with glee.

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.

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.

It wasn't necessarily that I wasn't a fan of fairies. Really. It wasn't that. It was that I wasn't a fan of being taken hostage by a group of fairies.

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.

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.

Having to eat fruit drives me bananas. But it’s OK, I park. Then I pick up a hooker and make love like I’ve got no money. And I really don’t have any.

While they had security escort me out of the building, they couldn’t forcibly remove the trophy from my anus. If love were a competition, I’d be the winner.

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.

I called the police to report my missing mustache, but they didn’t take me seriously. I’ll bet if I had a mustache, they’d take me seriously. #catch22

Several famous people have licked my nipples. Well, indirectly. First they licked the stamps, and then I peeled them off the letters and stuck them on my nipples.


There’s a marked difference between Mark Ed and Ed Mark. Same as the difference between making love and loving make—and I do both, for a very reasonable price.