Boy, that guy. He really chaps my hide. You know what I’m saying? He rustles my feathers. He overcooks my sunny-side-up eggs. You know what I mean? Really Mondays my Garfield. Absolutely burns my Library at Alexandria. “Is Pepsi okay”s my “I’ll have a Coke.” I tell you, he piques my interest. Wait, that’s good. He suits my fancy. No. Makes my day. No. Catches my eye. No.

You know what I mean.

There’s just something about him, you know? He pushes my buttons. Pulls my levers. Turns my wheels. Tugs my pulley. Really rolls down my inclined plane. You get me? I mean he martyrs my St. Sebastian. Just haunts my Hill House. What can I say? He declines and falls my Roman Empire. Really irritates my sensibilities. That one’s not an idiom; it’s just a literal description of our interactions. I tell you, he takes arms against my sea of troubles and by opposing, ends them.

I tell you, that guy, he gets my goat! I guess it’s his goat now that he got it. He really gets his own goat! Wait, everyone does that. At least everyone with a goat. Except for me, who has to give it to him! That doesn’t even make sense; in what sense is it my goat if he gets it? He really undermines my entire system of goat allocation. Not to overextend the metaphor, but he throws my society into complete goat anarchy.

Speaking of overextending metaphors, he really overextends my metaphors.

Boy, even thinking about him really chases my weasel all around the cobbler’s shop. Something about him just erodes my limestone. Really raises my monetary supply in a way that runs the risk of hyperinflation. He herniates my bladder. And I mean right into my inguinal canal! You understand me. I’m saying he violates my Treaty of Versailles by occupying and remilitarizing my Rhineland.

What I’m saying is he tousles my hair. Ugh, he absolutely strokes my cheek. Really brushes my single lock of hair out of my face. He lays a strong, gentle hand on my hip and draws me closer. I tell you, he presses his mouth to my tender, willing lips. You understand what I’m saying.

Golly, that guy just disappears my middle class. I mean, he skins my cat. In more ways than one! Really confounds my variables. He rages against my machine. Seriously gangs aft agley my best-laid schemes of mice and men. He just gets my goat. Not in the sense of possession this time; I just feel like he understands where my goat’s coming from. Which is too bad, but because he really raids my lost ark.

He really pencils my ruler. I mean, he Arthurs my Sally. Just swims my scissors. Absolutely chandeliers my Precambrian era. Really Fourth Estates my uvula. You know what I mean. He really sees my what I’m saying. You grind what I’m gearing. He justs my really. That guy he’s my just my really just he just my really he goats my just he. He goats my goats. He gets goats gets. Really just really goats really goats gets goats goats gets my my my my my…