Bob: Welcome back to Mike Modano’s bedroom. No score so far, but Modano’s looking to change that. How are you going to get on the board, Mike?
Mike: Uh, how did you get past my security system?
Bob: That’s not important. Will you use any props? Handcuffs? Whips? Donkeys?
Mike: Please, Bob. Just go away. Johan Franzen isn’t allowed in my house.
Bob: Thank you, Mike. Let’s send it over to Chris Simpson who’s standing by with Willa.
Chris: Thanks, Bob. Willa, Mike didn’t take out the trash last night. Will that impact your decision on where you’ll allow him to stick his Koho tonight?
Willa: Excuse me?
Mike: Honey, let’s just do this.
Chris: What about the rumors of sexual performance-enhancing drugs that cloud Mike’s past relationships?
Willa: I live here! There are no little blue pills in the medicine cabinet!
Mike: Honey, be quiet.
Mike and Willa disrobe
Pierre: Whoa! Bob and Chris, I don’t know if you can see this, but Willa’s had a little work done in the upper torso area!
Mike: Where the hell did you come from?
Pierre: Those whoppers will stay at attention for hours! No need to give them any greenies!
Mike and Willa embrace
Bob: Pierre, hate to interrupt, but I’m standing here with Mike and Willa’s maid. Consuela, what do you think of Mike’s technique?
Consuela: Ay, papi!
Willa: CON! SWAY! LA! GET! OUT! OHHHH! OF! HERE!!
Pierre: Modano’s grunting at two-second intervals. He needs to thrust more slowly if he wants to put one on the board.
Mike: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BED! AH … AHHH. Fuck.
Willa: Goddamnit. You’re sleeping on the couch for that, Mike.
Bob: Mike, it’s obviously a disappointing loss. How do you plan to respond next time?
Mike punches Bob in the face