"Take off your T-shirt and come to bed, c'mon, c'mon, you're a wonderful lover."
"Yeah, but am I the best?"
Because men are pathetic, and that's what they want to know. And women don't have that competitive thing, so they go: "There is no best."
"Ahaha! Who was he?? I know, it's one of those blue eyed guys with loads of teeth and hair and skin and all that modern shit, and he always looked as if he was on a boat and he gave up his job in cybergenics to go and plant trees in some fucking place, and he had loooooong lashes and could quote huge chunks of Baudelaire as he stirred his cafe latte, and he wrote a whole load of books and never told you, and then you were doubly impressed cause one day you found them in an airport, and he played lead cello in the Bulgarian orchestra and didn't tell you until you'd spent an hour twanging around on your ratty fucking guitar, looking for the first two chords of "Du-du-ron-ron", and he was mysterious and everything, he couldn't call because he was smuggling Chrochrobian children across the border to get them to safety, using his fucking knowledge of missile tactics and his inheritance and everything, and then he got involved in some underground documentary film group and was killed in a really tragic way for sedition - ONE OF THOSE GUYS, HUH?! ..I know your type!! Well you just hand me that fucking shoe horn over there, I'll take this T-shirt off and show you who's the best around here! I may have spent too long in the toilet but I've almost got some feeling back in one of my legs!"