“Excuse me? This isn’t the kind of love I ordered. I distinctly asked for something with less spittle.”
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to steal that. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m dying. No, please. Don’t make a fuss. It’s coming and I can’t do a thing about it. I just hope my hair doesn’t wilt before the funeral. Anyways. Tell them all I loved them. No, don’t say that. A few of them were the most unsavory types. How about this? She loved who she loved. The rest can find the nearest trolley and throw themselves beneath it. Just be kind enough to not do it in the early morning or evening commute. No use causing a commotion even in death.”
“Hello. You don’t know me but I’m in love with you. Thank you for letting me tell you that. Have a wonderful life.”
“I really don’t know what the big deal about having money is. So you can buy whatever you want and most of your worries will go away, big deal. I can find new worries so easily to replace the old ones. They’ll be wonderfully frightful worries ten times as worse.”
“If you’re going to kiss me then kiss me already. If not then stop staring at me like you’re going to because I really have to use the bathroom and I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”
“When you’re dead can you please turn off the lights on the way out? Some of us still have to pay the power bill.”
“I love the way you let me stare at you. I know you notice and I’m glad you don’t ask me to stop.”
“Lets all go to the zoo and try to guess which is the next trainer that is going to be on the news because they were mauled.”
“If a writer dies and goes to hell they’re eternal damnation is spent doing the same thing they did when they were alive; trying to finish writing a novel but eventually scraping it and starting over.”
“I think it’s time.”
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 