make up some fake, inscrutable adages and post them here

all cats are asshole cats

thirteen cherries do not a virgin make

the rich man sees eggs where the poor man sees hamburgers

the lighthouse of the soul is the agony of the moment

a candle that does not flicker cannot be trusted

introspectacles require no prescription

eyelashes are the sprokets of the face

dreams are as light as meringues and as heavy as lead

romance is to tungsten as opportunity is to halogen

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one may sit on a floor, but only a fool stands on a table

the wise woman does not count her warts until dawn

a mouse walks softly in the cathedral

a heavy heart is like a leaky colostomy bag

seven asses braying is a ruined month

I saw this one in an old newspaper cartoon:

Yes You Can't

fists taste the world's tears, but never swallow

triple penetration - gayer than double penetration

Bíonn chuile dhuine lách go dtéann bó ina gharraí.

the floor of one man's heart is the ceiling of another's kitchen

balancing a tulip on a knife's edge

where kind words leave no mark ironshod boots are useless

savor the reed of the bleating sax

the want of a window cures the house of misery

where a family prey they will stoop

to an old goose all fresh eggs are dubious

woe betide the fool who courts the woman with ashen cheeks

a wednesday bride will never want for clothes pegs

strike a man and you will soon see his kettle

only a straight road hides oncoming tractors

the lonely taverner and the cannibal are seperated only by the width of an axe

the cantankerous man will never find satisfaction in the ostrich egg lay-by of the full moon of Pisces

The more shoes, the greater the walking

the long road turns twice for the hedgehog

a badly intonated piano is no better than a wet towel flung at a speeding pensioner at midnight

never a wink in the eye of a donkey.

the third wheel makes the wheelbarrow

every thyme thy counteth magpies, thy parsley increaseth

when the milkmaid's away, the cows speculate

going east on a cross-eyed yak

A head full of plans is like strong cheese to a blind man

no amount of remorse will make a cheese roll uphill

a man with a turkey will never go wanting

three bells ringing is worry to a bogsnorkler

a fell road that covers no heath.

a menstrual jewess is a treasure in Rome

an extinguished pipe contains no more wisdom than a damp twig being thrown at the moon

north winds bring undecidedness to the child

The sparrow tied to the branch knows only whence the wind comes

who eats on a feastday angers the tinker

chicken pox before nine, you're doing fine!

the last cat is still envied by the first estate

Consider your friends as a farmer considers the hedgerows

seven on a bench makes light the sitting

early to sleep, early to beep-beep

count not the peasants in the meadow, but rather the number of holes in their shoes

even colanders sometimes want for advice!

a cauliflower may be as a bedpost to a junebug, just as a widow loathes deer ticks

a pharmacy what never closeth is like a paintstall in April rain

marking one's words is sure to bring trouble, brief though it may be. marking one's words twice, however, is utmost folly

a chambermaid is never satisfied until last night's tales are recounted. a chamberpot is never satisfied until last night's ales are recanted.

what comes between men and valleys is best saved for a winter's long walk

much wisdom be wise, yet wiser still is the man who can hurl a dreidel to Tipperary

in the marketplace of ideas, it's often the smallest gnu which registers the first objection

if pornography were baseball, then umpires would be blind to all balks

when desperation sets in, a pile of dusty handkerchiefs surpass a repast of luncheon meat

he who spites his enemy is like a cheesecloth which has never befriended curds

When all signs point to yes, the body says no

when has a man ever said, "oh, if it weren't for my foot then Rome might answer to me"?

between time and a buyer's market, better to halve one's horse carriage

every widow has a granary, but not every newlywed once trod in quicksand

When reading a book don't flip the page too soon; the book reads you too

show me a rose and I'll show you a girl named Sam

A loving man will desire losing, a loving woman will desire chocolate

every deck of cards may be filed down, but not every gambler is a prince!

advice may be easily whispered to a pugilist, but in reality is best saved for his tailor

If you want to catch birds, slam a stick into a bush

shopping chastens the man who loveth to spackle

fair ladies are like coupons for Burger King, often portenting a ring in the alcove

many is the heart which pineth after a Dove Bar, few are the chocolateers willing to suck soap

when a man visits your house clutching a jar of Vlasic Pickles to his bosom, best to burn any unsorted laundry posthaste

when your Rice-a-Roni begins to boil, consider a move to Detroit

a man without slippers may lie contentedly forever. a man without a subscription to Vanity Fair will fail to elicit hugs even from his undertaker

a Belorussian playing football is like a pagan turning water into Gatorade; only the gnashing of teeth can follow

when in the vicinity of a Wendy's Restaurant, best to pocket one's sherbet

why pine for McDonald's french fries, when there are children in El Dorado with no 7-11 Taquitos?

in the event of Pomeranians, best to urinate outside of a Motel 6

there are two virtues to defecating in a Sbarro's pizza. neither of them involve anchovies

counting tampons before menstruating is like petting an igloo during a heat wave-- neither will fatten your wallet or bring gladness to your heart

there are only three things that would-be bartenders love more than promotional coasters-- upended swizzle sticks, henna tattoos and the Delaware state lottery

if you meet an Udmurt on the way to the carwash, best to put down one's fruit basket and undo one's buttons

15 years ago the swiftest road to misery was living in a luxury apt. building employing a concierge who moonlights as a Jay Leon impersonator. nowadays it is having Arsenio Hall as your houseguest for a month

Scattered are the remants of tuesday's ghost

Until you beat your chest to the rhythm of the snow queen don't shave your legs

ran adrift the reign of Thunder Balls

if you haven't been in a magazine, then you can't tell me anything about the law

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground
Where an old man of Aran goes around and around
And his mind is a beacon in the veil of the night
For a strange kind of fashion there's a wrong and a right
But he'll never, never fight over you

Ears are windows to the heart.

Whipping shitties in the field is sure to grow next autumn's yield.

you can't read the leaves in a teabag