“I don’t quite know how to respond to people who say that I dance like my genitals are on fire. I usually just blush and brush aside their flattery.”

“I don’t know how to say it without saying it, so I’ll just not say it. Or I could show it, because that’s the only way to make love visible.”

“I like undressing women with my eyes, but I just can’t quite figure out how to unstrap their bras with my eyelids.”

“We were in love. When I say we, I don’t mean her and I. I mean me and my clone were in love with her. But she didn’t even know I existed, just as I didn’t know my clone existed. I still don’t know he exists.”

“She said, “You disgust me. How do you live with yourself?” So I said, “Like I live with my clone: with many pats on the back, accompanied by high flattery.”

“She told me she loved me. Most men wouldn’t know how to respond, but I did. What else could I say but, “Thanks, Grandma!”

“I don’t worry about identity theft, because I don’t even know who I am as a person. So if I’m not even in possession of my own identity, how can it be stolen from me?”