If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.


Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.


I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.

She asked if I loved another woman, so I answered honestly and said, “Dinner was great, but I could go for dessert.

I had a dream about you. We installed Dr. Robert Jarvik’s artificial heart in a mannequin and brought it to life, only to later kill it because a creature that’s all fake heart and no brain is what’s commonly called a “politician,” and must be destroyed.


To find out if she really loved me, I hooked her up to a lie detector. And just as I suspected, my machine was broken.


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


I had a dream about you. In my dream I stole all your money, kidnapped your parents, and mailed you mannequin parts spray-painted red in a series of packages that also included ransom notes. Then, towards the end of the dream, the cops surrounded my cave and swarmed in to arrest me. Sweating, my eyes shot open, and I realized it was a dream. “Of course it’s a dream,” I thought. “The cops have no idea where my cave is, and your first package has yet to be delivered.”


I had a dream about you. You looked like you, but you also looked like a mannequin. And I looked like me, but I also looked like a mannequin. Between the two of us, we were too fake even for Hollywood. And as such, we were forced to reside in Washington DC.