Let me be clear: I don’t want to make love to a mannequin—I want to make love like a mannequin. Oh, if only I were that animated in bed.


Love is bread and water to the soul. My relationships are quite soggy.


We made love like a half a minute. I brought the thirty seconds, and she provided the excuse as to why she didn’t have enough time to have sex with me.


The only time I drink milk is when I drink coffee. I make love the same way—contributing 2% as I just sort of lay there.


Our love was a two-person game. At least until one of us died, and the other became a murderer.


I make love like a snake disguised as an elephant and a donkey. But I mustn’t talk about sexual congress and Congress simultaneously.