“Thoughts on my Ass!”
“You’ll never guess who I plowed!”
“Stormy…aw, you suck.”
Everyone saw it coming a mile away, buddy.
“She saw it coming right up close.”
Here we go.
“We met in a Kauai bar called Banana’s. She talked about astrology and immigrants. I told her I was in the Grateful Dead and took my dick out. What a magical evening.”
You’re the last of the hopeless romantics.
“Bet your ass I am! So, I banged her against the cigarette machine. And, you know, that’s some uncut skank right there. Porn star against a cigarette machine? Top that shit. That’s like the Everest of skank. And I didn’t need any of those little snow-dwarves to carry my balls, either.”
Those people are called Sherpa.
“Brought her back to house, did a little backyard renovating.”
That’s a euphemism?
“Strong anal. It was somehow more anal than anal normally is. Like, if a butthole had its own butthole? That’s what we were doing.”
“Lot of footplay. You know how Brazilians keep the soccer ball up with their feet? Juggling it? Like that, but it’s a chick with a Brazilian and the soccer balls are my nuts. I was swollen but smiling.”
I don’t think we need the details.
“Problem is: I think I gotta start supporting Trump now.”
“We shared skank, man. That’s a bond.”
You’re gonna need to overlook it.
“The guy ruined red hats. Remember my red hat?”
You loved that hat.
“Psht. Gone. I like the black one, though.”
Are we talking about hats or presidents?
“Hats. Eh, both.”
Did this Stormy person mention Trump at all when you banged her?
“Shit, yeah. We may or may not have been smoking meth–”
“–and she was showing me all these pictures and videos of the shitstain. Got a pecker like a thumb, and he’s bright-red from all the Viagra. Just lays there.”
“It’s Stormy and this other chick, Harriet Tuggjob.”
“They’re skanking all over each other. He’s got a cheeseburger. Teevee’s on. Guy in the corner in a trenchcoat and furry hat is filming the action. There’s piss everywhere. He’s doing his hand gesture.”
“Nah. Shit, she e-mailed some of them to me.”
Lordy, you have the tapes?
“Yeah. Are they on the machine or in my phone.”
“At least I think she e-mailed them. She might have ‘shared’ them. Is that the same thing?”
Ah, right. Sometimes I forget you’re 70. Go to the machine.
Open your mail.
“Which button is that? I have a couple toolbars here.”
Toolbars? Why do you have toolbars? I told you how to get rid of those.
Are you clicking on things again? Stop clicking on things.
Obviously, you did. Whatever, just hit the little cartoon mailbox.
“Oh, that looks fascinating.”
“Okay, my screen is now bright red and nothing works and it says I have to call a number and give them money.”