“Love is the jelly to sunshine’s peanut butter. And if I tell you that I’m in sandwich with you, I’m not just saying it to get in your Ziploc bag.”

“I want to write the world’s worst cookbook, which I’ll title: “The World’s Worst Cookbook.” It’ll feature recipes from “Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” (peanut butter, jelly, and bread), to “Roasted Roadkill and Hitchhiker’s Surprise” (this recipe is a secret concoction handed down from my great grandfather to my grandfather, who told it to my dad just before he ran him over).
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“I want to scrape earwax out of your ears like the last of the chunky peanut butter in a jar. I’d love it if you ate one of my world famous Listening Sandwiches.”

“Love is to beer as I am to drunk. And you say I’m not romantic. Shoot, I’m so romantic I could just puke.”

“A brick and a blanket could be used as characters in a story full of clever dialogue, such as:
Brick: I checked everywhere, and it’s not where I last left it. Did you touch my penis sandwich?
Blanket: What? Eww no, why would I touch your penis sandwich?
Brick: Well, would it make you more comfortable if I put on some condiments and rolled on a condom?
Blanket: Dude, or lady, whatever you are. I’m not gay—or straight. I’m not even bisexual. I’m a blanket, and I’m asexual. I’m also not hungry now.”

“He was a man I came to respect. Not because he wore Ziploc bags for socks (he had sweaty feet), but because he also kept his sandwiches warming there while he walked.”

“How many ways can I say “I love you”? I could say it in another language, like French. I could say it through action, like a kiss. Or I could say it indirectly, like telling your best friend, April. Yes, I think I’m ready to tell April I love her.”