Bruce: The only reason I ever licked you baby--was the salt.
Woman: Stop it.
Bruce: Take your lumbar roll and *get out*!! [mumbles] Futon woman.
[song, lyrics spoken--]
Bruce: Our love is like standing on an ice flow outside your house; watching you mount--another man.
Our love is like jiffy pop. It takes a long time for it to rise, and when it does, it doesn't quite seem like the real thing.
Our love is like our best friend's love...only *better*!
It's clear to me now, our love is like Santa Claus. The only ones who will believe in it are small children who don't understand how the world--really works.
Our love is like work gloves...owned by someone who...never works.
Our love is like having sex with a dwarf when you're drunk. Oh, it's great at the time; but when you think about it the next day at work, you feel shame and guilt, and an array of sadness.
Our love is like the book Johnathan Livingston Seagull. I tried reading it when I was fourteen, but I just couldn't get through it.
Our love is like a Bruce Springsteen concert. It's not that great; it's really long, but *wow*! What energy!
Our love is like the Brady Bunch, no, the Partridge family! No, the Brady Bunch, no, the Partridge family! No the Brady Bunch, no, like...WKRP In Cincinatti.
Oh, I know what show our love is like. COPS. That racist, welfare hating crack-hunt.
Our love...and I mean this in a nice way...is like taking Lassie to the desert, removing her teeth with a hunting knife; and shooting her in the head with a gun that you and she built together.
Our love is like licking the ass of a dead squirrel that's laying bloated in the sun; but also...there's a negative side?
Our love is like my parents' love. The only difference is; I won't wait 'til you *die* to leave you.
Don't get me wrong. I *like* our love. It's just not very...funny?