“Quiet night. Silence at full capacity. Noiselessness is spilling over like a coffee cup full of jock cock. In a contact sport I’ve got to protect my genitals.”

“In exchange for my silence, I want a box of quiet. Empty—and full.
That’s also how I like my morning coffee at night.”

“I’ve got a pocket full of cash, and a condom full of erection.”

“The situation is a coffee mug, and I’ve got a handle on it.”

“The mobster came by my establishment and said I needed protection. “Nope,” I replied, “I’ve already got protection.” Then I showed him how I wear a rubber glove over my penis, with my shaft sliding perfectly in the pinky finger slot.”

“If coffee meant vagina, I’d ask you if you wanted cream in your coffee. But it doesn’t mean that, so I’ll just sit here and continue sipping my mug full of steaming vagina.”

“I drink coffee like a civilized man—alone in a cave, wearing a loincloth, and grunting in frustration because my club is too thick to fit in my cup to stir in the sugar.”