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!

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 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.

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.

How wonderful it must be, I thought, to be able to just spread your wings whenever you like without someone following you around trying to swat you out of the sky.

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.

You see, that’s what’s so odd, how everyone thinks they’re normal and the truth is no one in the world is normal at all. Isn’t that wonderful?

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.

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.

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.

Love is like a tall tree standing next to a midget. Well, it was like that, before it just walked away, leaving the midget just standing there, looking taller than normal.

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.