To some believers, being on the pill or using a condom is a nonverbal way of telling God to go to hell.

A seemingly simple task like taking a bath or wearing a condom feels like multitasking to someone who suffers from hemiplegia or has only one hand.

Some people have contracted HIV during their separate endeavours to give someone or some people a curable STD.

The human population would probably be way less than a thousand, if ejaculation were not usually accompanied by an orgasm.

Some men would not still be HIV negative or alive, if they had managed to sleep with some of the women with whom they want or wanted to have sex.

Speaking of which, about assuming you had a condom—I just meant that you, with your experience, would be prepared for responsible sex, even if it were on the fly. An intelligent man is prepared for spontaneity.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren’t for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

Although every person makes mistakes, not every mistake makes a person.

Writing poetry is like having sex with the universe and the language is just a condom.

Some women would not have contracted an STD or STDs had they not been on the pill.

AIDS would have claimed fewer lives if we had publicly recommended what I wish to call ‘The Presumption of Sickness,’ i.e., the principle that whomever we are about to sleep with is HIV-positive until proven HIV-negative.

Culture is a fibreglass condom suit - highly restrictive, uncomfortable and itchy as hell.

Love is a banana. First you peel it, and then you roll on the condom.

The difference between a retiring man and a used condom is that the condom isn’t given a golden watch to inspire the illusion that it still matters to whomever that has just used it.

Worry is to human beings … what a condom is to a man with erectile dysfunction.