A suit made of cooked eggs is fun until the wolves attack

I really do wish that I could just love and marry you and that we could do all of our most vital plannings between the 17 seconds after our weekly sex romp and before I fall into blissful slumber but I'm afraid my heart belongs to another, alcohol and unsafe sex.

I mean, I suppose there might be room for you between me and unsafe sex, I'm sure she could scoot over so that you could pour your heavenly bliss betwixt she and me and you and she -- but don't come between me and alcohol because that's a battle you don't want to fight.

And boys, I want you to know I'm speaking to the girls at this juncture and I know that's painful and confusing but there are rules. Unless you have the requisite lingua facil, capacity for long bouts of silence and a giving trust fund. Maybe just maybe then.