I am gonna sprinkle you with a little Chrissy sugar, then I'm gonna pop you in the oven and bake you at 450 until you're brown as one of my daddy's loafers.

Come with me.

Look with your eyes, not with your hands, okay?

Geez, it's like spending the evening with a little puppy, you know?

Hell, two to one you could sell with some old perfume soaked hag.

I gotta tell you though, the John I'm with is a total nightmare.

The Russians have invaded America with special robots!

Yes, I'll wear the red underpants with the gold piping.

He's a male escort I've been paying to have sex with me.

You know, all I gotta do is, you know, clean her pipes a couple of times a day, and she rewards me with a dazzling array of cash and prizes.

She's madly in love with me, and I could care less about her.

You.

Unlike the shallowness of spending an evening with a gorgeous, empty-headed, centerfold type.

There you are, can't you stand?

You break it, you bought it.

You did just what you were told and you offered very little resistance.

Now, to begin with, I assume a good escort would convey a proper compliment to his date.

She's using you.

Can I touch you?

See you around, buddy.