Sex with me is like watching Citizen Kane with a cinephile; it’s easier to just pretend you enjoyed it and move on than admit how terrible it actually was.
Sex with me is like being at Niagara Falls because there are Canadians 500 feet away (My neighbors are Canadian).
Sex with me is like seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time; it’s kinda nice for a few seconds but then you’re just ready to go home.
Sex with me is like watching a sequel to a movie; you’ll go into it not expecting much and come out of it knowing you were right to assume so.
Sex with me is like forgetting to cancel a subscription; you’re not only angry at yourself but now your only form of entertainment is listening to the loud argument between my Canadian neighbors about one of them getting drinks with a co-worker.
Sex with me is like going to a dinner party and the main course being lemon chicken; it’s like, okay, sure, I guess.
Sex with me is like seeing one of my Canadian neighbors beg their wife to stay as she drags her luggage to a taxi heading to the airport because what he did was unforgivable.
Sex with me is like shopping at Target; it’s not very fun, but at least there’s a nice-smelling candle nearby.
Sex with me is like seeing the wife return to your Canadian neighbors house with a gun followed by some screaming followed by a few loud noises followed by a door slamming followed by a car screetching off followed by you going over to check out what happened followed by you discovery the bleeding body followed by you calling the cops followed by you testifying as a key witness in the murder trial months later…it’s traumatizing and a pain in the ass.
The Banana Peel 