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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #surreal
Love is like building a wall with two bricks and a ton of wind. Obviously you and your lover are bricks. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
A blanket could be used to separate the winners from the losers. With the exception of me, all men are losers, and only the winners are allowed under the blanket. Sorry, fellas, but there is nothing I can do about the situation. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
Dear Ford, I think my Ford Explorer door is broken. It just won’t close. I think this is because I don’t have the rest of the Explorer, I only have the door. It’s a passenger-side door, and I bought it from a passenger. Also, it doesn’t seem to be able to lock. I think the latch isn’t catching, or something. I think it’s missing some crucial parts, and I’d like to order them from you. I need: one frame, four wheels, a body, another door, an engine, a steering wheel, and some of those air fresheners that you stick in the vents. And I’m feeling frisky with my money, so let me go ahead and order some brakes while I’m at it. You can send the bill to the Pizza Hut on San Jose Boulevard. They’ll just deliver it to me, along with the pizza I just ordered. Thank you, Jarod Kintz ↗
#e-mail #ford #funny #humor #ridiculous
A blanket could be considered part of performance art, if you’re inconsiderate and steal all the covers while we’re asleep—and film me shivering and twitching in the night. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes With the tongue of an unbelievable stone My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof And of steam on the panes My wife with shoulders of champagne And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice My wife with wrists of matches My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts With fingers of mown hay My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut And of Midsummer Night Of privet and of an angelfish nest With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill My wife with legs of flares With the movements of clockwork and despair My wife with calves of eldertree pith My wife with feet of initials With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking My wife with a neck of unpearled barley My wife with a throat of the valley of gold Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent With breasts of night My wife with breasts of a marine molehill My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days With the belly of a gigantic claw My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically With a back of quicksilver With a back of light With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking My wife with hips of a skiff With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers And of shafts of white peacock plumes Of an insensible pendulum My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos My wife with buttocks of swans' backs My wife with buttocks of spring With the sex of an iris My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat My wife with a sex of mirror My wife with eyes full of tears With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle My wife with savanna eyes My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire ↗
And the whole Oscar thing, that is just surreal: you spend months and months doing promotion, and then come back to reality with this golden thing in your hands. You put it in the office and then you just have to look at it sitting on the shelf. And, after about two weeks, you go: 'What is that doing there?' ↗
I could pour my love in a coffee cup and the shivering and skeptical would beg me to drink it on a cold winter morning. And could they drink from my coffee cup? No, because it’s not like there is coffee in there, or even hot chocolate. My love is the only thing filling that cup, and everyone knows (well, everyone but Agatha knows) that you can’t drink my love, you can only eat it. That’s because my love is frozen like 32 degrees spun around 180 degrees, translated to Inuit, shipped to Siberia, tutored in a gulag, and sent back to the US in the form of a Martini on the rocks by a bartender named Martin Rock. ↗
