Oh, I know, I’ve got a great idea! Why don’t we pass the time with you telling me how much *fun* you and Colin had having sex in Los Angeles?
What?
Oh, c’mon, I never had a chance with you.
Oh, yeah? Well what does that mean?
Yeah, it is scary. It’s terrifying. Especially when I’m in love with a psycho like you.
I just told you that I loved you and all you heard was “psycho.” Well you’re the definition of neurotic.
Shut up! Yet again I just told you I’m in love with you and you’re standing here giving me a vocabulary lesson.
Beats the shit out of me, but I am.
Let me tell you something about women. Women would have us believe that they are the victims; That we break their hearts for sport. That’s crap. They say they want romance, they say they want true love, but all they want is a check list. Is he perfect? Is he handsome? Is he a doctor? For you men who fit the criteria, don’t kid yourselves. Cuz they’re not sleeping with you, they’re sleeping with a carefully calculated set of venal choices. Money over substance, looks over soul, polished over principles. No gesture, no matter how real or romantic will ever compensate for a really impressive list of credentials.
I want to thank you for getting me this gig, I would never have gotten it without you. You and I? We make good TV.
YOU make imbecillic trash watched by house-bound inbreds who are so busy with their hands down their pants they can’t change the remote.
I, I hadn’t really been picturing you that way, but it’s a nice image.
Well, you want to thank your pussy for me, then?
You have to be two people. The saint and the sinner. The librarian and the stripper.
Now, we have to teach you flirting.
You know how to flirt. “Oh, my name’s Abby and I love reading Tolstoy. I also love cats, gardening, and romantic picnics.” I don’t think so.
Hey, you know what? I wouldn’t say that, and I wouldn’t grab ass.
He’s an idiot. I figured you out in two. Now tell him good night and stick your tits out, we’re going to give this one last shot.
You are just totally trying to kill my buzz.
Well, for your information, it was more than just one. It was more like a parade. Codependent girls, unfaithful girls, depressed girls, narcissistic girls, phony girls. Girls who, it turned out, didn’t actually like me. By the time I hit 30, I realized that you can only have so many lousy relationships before you figure out there’s no such thing as a good one.
So there you have it. Never assume a girl is easy or assume she’s a prude. There are many layers in between, and it’s your job, gentlemen, to peel back those layers and figure out exactly what type of woman you’re dealing with.
Because once you do peel back those layers, my friends, her lady garden awaits.
