A moment later, the world's first all-purpose human being strode eastward, whistling.'A tasty world,' it reflected cheerfully. 'A very tasty world.''You said it, Cornelius!

All the Debbies in the world are too big to be little. Makes me wish I were just two inches taller, you know? I blame my dad—or the mailman. Not sure yet. I get the DNA results back tomorrow.

I conceal myself behind cynicism because it’s safe. Camouflage is more protective than body armor. Why do you think the Department of Defense contacted me to design a gun that shoots insults?

JEMAINELisa?BRETYes, she's in Delta Force. She's been deployed to Fallujah.JEMAINEBut she works in the croissant shop.BRETYeah, she's got two jobs. She's a pastry chef and a sniper.

I'm offering you love on a stick. If you'd like, you can grab it to go. It’s like a popsicle, only it won’t melt if you put it through hell like you did with you last boyfriend.

Are you an evolutionist? I’m an absurdist, ma’am. But let’s suppose evolution is true; what about the monkeys today? Why can’t we see them evolving? Are they still evolving?

My love is heavy with ink, so I took it and transformed it into a poem for you. I would give it to you, but Grandma took it because I left it on the counter, and she mistook it for the grocery list.

I sometimes lie awake at night wishing I had all the answers. But I guess only God has all of them, while I only have one answer: I do. Now I just have to wait for the perfect question to use it on.

More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.

I’ll bet you make love like an orca whale sings opera. How do you make love? Bjork Orca asked me. Like an orca whale sings opera, only with more wetness, more shattered glass, and less boredom.

Due to its late nature, tomorrow morning will start after tonight. People say early morning, but it’s later than late at night, so I say it’s entirely too decadent for me to be a part of.

I prefer kissing over dinner. Not that I prefer kissing to dinner, but I prefer kissing over the plate containing my dinner, especially if my dinner consists of something romantic like monkey brains.

I wrote this piece because my mailbox was full of bills, junk mail, and lettuce, but not a single letter from Andre Breton. So I decided I’d write to him (though I did eat my first two drafts).

The tire left a skid mark on the road that looked like a mustache. So I shaved it off the pavement, stuffed it in my trunk, and took it home to wear to work the next day. Ah, but that’s life, no?

The bus had one too many people on it (the driver), so all of them had to die. The only thing that saved all those passengers was my love—and the fact that I know how to drive with a blindfold on.