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!!

Consuela: Si!

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