Love is like learning to ride a midget, which I’ve never done because I’m afraid of heights

Linda Sands is great. How great is she?

-She’s as great a writer as the Great Pyramid of Giza is triangular.

-If her writing came in liquid form, I’d drink it, bathe in it, and freeze it to rub on my nipples.

-I would compare her work to Hemingway’s, but that’s be insulting–to her.

-If her writing were a dinosaur, it wouldn’t be extinct, and it would eat plants, animals, active imaginations, and hopefully all of my student loan debt.

-If her writing were the Eiffel Tower, then I’d change my name to Pierre, move to France, and take up painting centenarians in the nude (not that I don’t do that already).

-If her writing grew on trees, you know it’d be organic and make the tastiest smoothies.

-If her writing showed up to a knife fight, it’d be the only one carrying a gun. And if I showed up, I’d show up late, and I’d be the only guy with a fork.

-If her writing were a stripper, I’d have spent much more than three bucks trying to get a peek.

-If her writing were a marathon, my feet would be bleeding from running it over and over again. Somebody get me some Band-Aids!

-And finally, If her writing has no objections, I’d like to name my firstborn child after it.

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