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Max, of course, is good at a great many things.

She's funny. She's a good dancer. She's a good GM. She knows first aid. Around the holidays, she makes vegan popcorn balls that are always popular. She manages her own finances. She bleaches her own hair. She folds laundry very efficiently

But, of course, there's a difference between being good at something and having that be your "thing". I'm quite competent at having bowel movements, but I don't go around declaring myself a pooping virtuoso.

(Tuesday afternoon, INT: MH's apartment, living room)

MH: For serious, it is twelve kinds of bullshit that you're a monog. I have a deep-seated need to express gratitude and affection for you right now, and doing so via epic BJs would be ideal.
JH: You do know that there are other things, right? You can make people happy and provide value through means other than inducing orgasm via direct stimulation of the genitals.
MH: Yeah, but shtupping is more or less universal. And, more importantly, it's self-evidently and inherently pleasurable. I enjoy it, I'm good at it, I spend a lot of time devoted to it. Ludicrous over-the-top promiscuity is kinda my primary thing.
JH: What's your secondary?
MH: The care and feeding of animals. Animals love me. That one's not applicable to you either, since you have no living pets.
JH: Tertiary?
MH: Are tiny green pigs constructing fragile little castles in your living room?
JH: Not to my knowledge.
MH: Then I got nothin'.