#romance

Christy was in the mood for a drug they call “love.” Side effects include binging, nausea and low friend count #romance

I’ll never find another one like you, she said to Jim, a half-man half-lizard hybrid human with chiseled abs #romance

Bill got down on one knee and took out a box. “This is what the headlight replacement bulb looks like,” he told Sandra, and installed it properly #romance

Rob thought Tina would love the ring he picked out. He had Facebook stalked her for weeks and finally had the courage to meet her in person. #romance

“I’ll never forget you” Lucy told Gary as she boarded flight 147, nonstop to Dumpsville, population: Lucy. #romance

Some say love, it is a river. Others say love, it is being comfortable peeing in front of someone #romance

If you really love someone, set them free, David said to Wendy from inside his cage, next to tons of other cages #romance

For Sally, love meant more than just being with someone, it meant hiding outside his apartment years after they’ve broken up #romance

Joey and Maureen shared everything in their relationship. Everything down to the space they took up in lonely Harold’s mind #romance

Men knew Jenna didnt come cheap, except during the Memorial Day Sale when it was half off Jenna #romance

Jenna didnt come cheap when it came to dates, except during her Memorial Day Sale when it was half off all spring-season Jenna.

He was a one-track lover on a two-way street. She was a quick detour (of luv). A 3rd was a speed trap along Love Blvd. You get the picture.

His unbridled passion, his lustrous mane…Joanna thought of these often, although she was really only good at describing horses.

Susan was used to men bidding for her love. It was only recently that one suitor took the “buy it now” option for a discount on shipping,

Flowers, chocolates, precious metals studded with even more precious gems: only two of these things are compostable.

Not everyone spoke the language of love in Muntsville. Jim Derry did. Bert Lowenstein and Kevin Burton did, too, but that was about it.

They weren’t just exchanging flirtatious glances. Let’s just say they “tuned into that new Brad Garrett program on TLC at 8 and 8:30 p.m.”

Secrets were not kept on Wisteria Lane, especially not the one about Pastor Mark’s pillar of salt (WHAT HE CALLED HIS PENIS, HA!).

The tribe sought a virgin to sacrifice to the fertility gods. If Pochotl had his way, the corn wouldn’t grow an inch this year.

She called him Ishmael, Ahab, Popeye, Odysseus and other nautical names, for their love life was waning and he suggested role play.

She was a devout Christian. A singer in her church choir, until the night she was serenaded with Pseth’s Psexy Psalms.

She had a slot open on the floor. He had indicated “flexibility” on his resume. Together, they’d make the first quarter blush.

The children called him Old Man Hooper. The ladies called him often. He was the local plumber and he kept his gonorrhea a secret.

Her pulse quickened when she saw that strut, that wrinkly dark skin, those soulful lips. A California Raisin. He’d be her next prey.

Some people called her a prude. Fact is, she was an oceanic plate and wanted badly to be ground down in the subduction zone.

Being the Foursquare mayor of his wife Beth’s heart lost its luster after Jim noticed it had over 750 past check-ins.

Jill was a palaeontologist on the prowl for love. By day, she unearthed huge bones. By night, she drank alone and read Us weekly.

He had planned on wowing her with a vast knowledge of Tarantino films, which was good because she had forgotten her birth control.

As a cat person, Jim’s heart longed for one who shared a love of cats and, like him, had a 50% feline genetic make-up.

Wii Fitness said he was 21 and she was 65. “We’ll make it work,” she said, reaching for his nunchuk.

He was looking for love in all the wrong places and she was Carmen Sandiego. He died alone, with a poor grasp of geography.

He called her his “lil honey pot” and gave her his undivided attention. Only Type 1 diabetes could stop this silly ol’ bear’s love.

Guilty of crimes of passion, they were prisoners of Love, Warden Love, at the Love County Correctional Facility, in Texas.

Though unbridled passion ate away at him, poor Samuel Morse lost his love when he misspelled “annal” in a telegraph sext.

She was a wolfgirl and they were wolfmen, eager to spread seed like broadcast fertilizers. The Toro kind you push along, but wolflike.

“up, left, down, right, X, B, A, Y,” he whispered into her ear. It was the love cheat code, and he could now modify her traits.

She didn’t want to break his heart and he wasn’t a bad person, it’s just that he was Bono and she was a level-headed, ordinary human being.

He died, in her arms, beaten badly but smiling. In retrospect, they should not have chosen “oeuvre” as a safety word.

Was it love at first sight that drew them together? No, it was magnets, and neither of them had any clue how the #$%@ they worked.

Reaching for the pen, their hands met, then their eyes, then their manhood. It was 1776, and Hancock was feeling unabridged.

Their love was too strong. Nothing could tear them apart. Nothing, that is, except a certain move he called “The Wiggler.”

Their eyes met across the cafe. “Perhaps a brooding romantic genius?” she thought. He was reading Amy Tan. “No,” she decided.

It was a different time then, but Uruk’s graphic romance cave walls were not exactly taking Pangaea by storm.

You could say they were “insider trading.” You could also say he “experienced 1000% growth.” The recap was on Mad Money.

For years he tried to get her alone, and now he had. But repopulating the earth after post nuclear war just wasn’t her cup of tea.

From across the room, he studied her body, every nook and cranny, some which could be described as “palatial.”

He treated her body like a wonderland, or maybe a newer-ish Arby’s, it’s not like he majored in the architecture of love.

He could smell her very presence, a light fragrance of cinnamon in the air, along with cumin, garlic, broccoli and fish.