But listen, kid: it's a dead end. A damn dead end. It seems perfect, but it all falls apart in the end. You think they'll never let you down, because they only exist in your mind, but little do you know...they get away from you. They're worse than children.
Oh, yeah, the sex is good. The foreplay is outstanding and goes on for hours. The conversation is goddamn sparkling. And at first, there's no pressure, because you see them when you want, on your own terms. But they get jealous, just like anyone else; they don't like your other imaginary girlfriends.
And if you think you're sparing yourself any agony by having imaginary girlfriends who are fictional, then, son, you're really fooling yourself. Even when I was a kid, I could see the writing on the wall: Morticia Addams wouldn't quit bugging me about money. Agent 99 didn't like how I got high all the time and wasn't an 'active' person. Myra Minkoff was fun while it lasted, until she noticed that I was both fatter and less educated than her last boyfriend. Tigra was just too freaky for me, and the Scarlet Witch left me for a goddamn robot. (Yeah, I know, synthezoid. WHATEVER.) Even Rachel Owlglass wouldn't get off my back about driving a station wagon.
Real-life imaginary girlfriends didn't work out any better. I broke up with Janeane Garafalo when it became clear that I'd never meet her; I broke up with the Comic Book Shop Girl when it became clear that I someday would. For a while I tried imaginary-dating women I had actually dated in the past, but all they did was fight. Then I tried imaginary-dating people I just made up, but after a while I had a hard time telling them apart.
No, kid, stick with real women. Sure, they're a handful; but at least when they walk down the street with you, other people can see 'em.