“Love has boundaries, like a map, and I guess that makes me a cartographer. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re too topographical for my taste.”

“Love knows no boundaries. I wish I would have known that before I hired a cartographer to map out my romantic territory.”

“When you’re a cartographer, having to make maps sort of comes with the territory.”

“I stand six feet back when meeting new people. And before they can step to me and extend their arm for a handshake, I drop down like I’m doing pushups, and extend my right hand. It’s friendly, but it lets them know I’m into boundaries. And unless they’re a cartographer, they have to be made aware of this fact.”

“Try my all-you-can-eat vomit soup. Sadly, people don’t want seconds, because they don’t even want firsts. But it tastes great. I tasted it on the way down—and then again on the way up.”

“I like the way I look, but I don’t like the way my mirror presents me. It’s biased.”

“Love isn’t measured in feet and miles, it’s measured in hands and hands on. (Yesterday at 3:33 pm I spoke to the Prime Minister of Orafouraville about your recent skin condition, and he said he’d send over his best cartographer to map the growing infection).”