“My heart beats to the rhythm of the windshield wipers. I’d better never drive in the desert, unless I want to die. Our relationship has one too many cactuses in it to be deserving of my love.”

“A car is a couch with wheels. My windshield wipers don’t work, so I’ve decided to stop watering my living room carpet. Honk if you want coffee, and I’ll pour you an umbrellaful.”

“Respect is something that should be earned, like eyebrows shaped like windshield wipers in a stormy arcade evening. I like my respect with lots of elbow room and melted cheese on top.”

“I got my windshield replaced for no apparent reason. So now I have a new windshield that looks exactly like my old one, only cleaner.”

“I’m like a staircase, she was like an elevator, and our relationship never escalated above friendship. I’d like to think we’ll one day be a couple, but I’m not going to wear a fishbowl on my head and dream about it. That wouldn’t be fair to me, her, or the goldfish I’d be displacing.”

“Too many men have died in the name of old age. I know, because my grandmother was one of them.”

“If my life’s work could fit on a stamp, I’d want you to lick it before I die.”