Sundays are for…*looks around*…finishing yet another volume of Sandman, and for doing laundry, and even for spending time with your loved ones.
*Puts desiccated family heads back in cabinet*
Anyway, Sundays are also for awful flirting lines. Trust me, I know. Here are five fantasy ones!
- My Flaming Sword burns ever-brighter near your biter.
- Is this merely illusion, or am I discarding my clothes? Run your hand on this here mine hairy chest, and find out!
- You seem in need of exorcism, milady…lie down, and I shall sweat thy haunting demon out of thee!
- Hood’s balls? The god of death doesn’t have any, but I certainly do…
- You needn’t worship the gods…allow me to worship you, instead!
…I wouldn’t use them, if I were you — unless you’re particularly despondent and you’ve found a particularly attractive cave troll lady.