I talk first. When we do these things, I talk first.
“Ah, kiss my prick. Guess what I saw today?”
The tits of a hippy chick young enough to be your granddaughter.
“Noooo. Wait. Um…carry the one…okay, yeah. I did that, but also something else. Went to see those Revengers.”
“Man, did they get some revenge. There was the flag guy, and the smirky one with the armor. Spider-Man was there.”
No, he wasn’t.
“There were a couple blacks on the team; two chicks, both of whom had a great racks. Monsters and robots fought a lot.”
That was the actual pitch of this movie, I think.
“I think one of the robots was gay.”
The one who just shows up twenty minutes from the end to do things, none of which are convincingly explained?
“Yeah. Was he Batman?”
“Then, more stuff happened. I can’t tell you what; at that point I had gently laid my penis in a stranger’s popcorn tub.”
I forgot you do that at movies.
“I count on people forgetting.”
“You think the redhead with the boobs is a Deadhead?”
Billy, buddy: I love ya, but she’s out of your league.
“What about the big, blond guy?”