“AWWWWW. Didja hurt yer footie-wootie?”
I don’t need your help.
“Poor widdle baby. You should…you should…fuck it, do whatcha want.”
Peter, I–
“WOOOOOO!”
–truly do not need–
“WOO!”
–your help.
“Iss a party.”
I see that.
“Yer a pussy an’ lemme tell ya why.”
Please don’t.
“Iss becuz…iss becuz…ah, fuck it: c’mere an’ lemme pour some booze on it.”
No, I would prefer ifYAAAAAAAAAAHMOTHERFUCKER!
“Thass the way men do it.”
It is not! It’s not the way anyone does it! It’s a burn, not a cut! And even if it were a cut, humanity has progressed beyond using whiskey as an antiseptic!
“Ahh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m…I’m…I’m sorry. I’ll make it up ta ya. Le’s you an’ me go smoke a doobie, you an’ me.”
Yeah, okay, I guess.
“I got Josh Meyers’ phone number. We c’n prank him.”
Lead the way, Shappy.
“Don’ call me that.”
I made this a while ago because I want to be banned from all of Mr.Shapiro’s fine establishments…..and I may have lost my mind.