Jerry Falwell will always live on in my memory...
FALWELL: My first time was in an outhouse outside Lynchburg, Virginia.
INTERVIEWER: Wasn't it a little cramped?
FALWELL: Not after I kicked the goat out.
INTERVIEWER: I see. You must tell me all about it.
FALWELL: I never really expected to make it with Mom, but then after she showed all the other guys in town such a good time, I figured "What the hell!"
INTERVIEWER: But your mom? Isn't that a bit odd?
FALWELL: I don't think so. Looks don't mean much to me in a woman.
INTERVIEWER: Go on.
FALWELL: Well, we were drunk off our God-fearing asses on Campari, ginger ale and soda -- that's called a Fire and Brimstone -- at the time. And Mom looked better than a Baptist whore with a $100 donation.
INTERVIEWER: Campari in the crapper with Mom . . . how interesting. Well, how was it?
FALWELL: The Campari was great, but Mom passed out before I could come.
INTERVIEWER: Did you every try it again?
FALWELL: Sure . . . lots of times. But not in the outhouse. Between Mom and the shit, the flies were too much to bear.
INTERVIEWER: We meant the Campari.
FALWELL: Oh, yeah. I always get sloshed before I go out to the pulpit. You don't think I could lay down all that bullshit sober, do you?
(Hustler Magazine, 1983; h/t to Dennis Perrin)