Arguments about love tend to be amorphuss.
I want to dip you in melted cheese! I’m just so fondue you.
What did the deer say to the sheep? “I’m very faun of ewe.“
You know you’ve won a polygamist’s heart when he says the magic words, “I love few.”
When you go on a date with an eros pace engineer, you have to take it slow.
I moved to the Italian capital and married a fumigator. But we got divorced because after a while the Rome ants was all gone.
Want to marry a river horse? I won’t hippos you. Or a horned ungulate? Sure, love has neither rhino reason.
My sister is marrying an organ thief. She says she wants a man after her own heart, someone who can de-liver her from her troubles, and who’ll take care of her two little kidneys after she’s gone.
As for me, I married a woman who had her face surgically removed. For love no nose limits.
I fell in love with an organ donor consultant. Alas, she brokered my heart.
I fell in love with a saint. It was like, “You had me at halo.”