Stop kidding around and just tell me what sex is already

“Look, I just think it’s a little strange that supposedly no one in this entire group knows what sex is. Are you trying to keep something from me? You can tell me. I am going to be the President and I will need to know for security purposes.”

“Is it a kind of horse? Because if so, I have several. I will definitely be prepared if that’s the case. Can anyone confirm?”

“I’ll admit this was really funny for a while, but the joke is over. I found out what sex was from somebody else, just like everybody, so I don’t even need you to tell me anymore. I’m glad we cleared that up. It’s sure good to know what all that business is about now, business, of course, being a colloquial term for sex. But it can still just mean business, which I also enjoy.”

“I order you to tell me. I order all of you to tell me, one at a time, so I can make sure there’s nothing funny going on. No jokes. No drawings. No more texting each other about it when you think I’m not looking. I’m always looking. Tell me. Just tell me. I’m so tired, sometimes. I just want to rest.”

“Listen, why don’t I say what I think it is and you all say what you think it is and we’ll both say what we think it is at the same time and that way we can make sure we all know the same thing, which is what sex is and how people – people? – do it. Aha! So, people do it, eh? One step closer to solving that puzzle.”

“Man, I love fall. Don’t you love fall? Me, I love it. Please tell me. What sex is.”

“You think you’re so great. So smart and so great, that’s what you all think about yourselves. I know what sex is, you say to yourselves. I wasn’t placed in a sky labyrinth and told to “conquer myself or die” when I reached puberty. So smug. I’ll watch you burn. I’ll watch you all burn, and then it won’t matter what sex is, because no one will ever have it again.”