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There are a lot of different flavours of horniness. It's a 500-words-for-snow kinda deal.

There's bored-horny, there's I-guess-it's-that-time-again-horny, there's specific-sexual-fantasy-repeating-in-your-head-like-a-broken-record-horny, there's you-are-the-single-most-beauteous-creature-in-the-world-and-the-purpose-of-my-existence-is-to-give-you-pleasure-horny, there's even panic-attack-my-God-I'm-never-going-to-have-sex-again-horny.

Right now, Max is going through blind-omnidirectional-lust-that-is-neurochemically-indistinguishable-from-heroin-withdrawal-horny. That one's not fun.


(Sunday afternoon, INT: WW and SW's apartment)

JH: Well, as generous as the offer is, I'm not going to bone your girlfriend for you. Where's Simon, I thought he lived here?
WW: He does, normally. He's visiting his parents right now. I'm a lonely homo.
MH: SOMEBODY is going to have to bone me.
JH: Well, here's a thought. If it's macho aggression that turned you off Wallace, maybe what you need is some time at the other end of the spectrum. What's your girlfriend's name? Carol?
MH: Jamie, you're a genius. I would have to shower and get a change of clothes first, though.
JH: Why?
MH: Ironically enough, my sapphic sweetie is deathly allergic to pussy.
WW: As far as I know, I'm not allergic to cock, but I've never really been to a farm before...