Now, I'm not gonna blame Mary. That wasn't really her fault, and I suppose if you had to assign blame there it would go to me as the supervisory parent. But that was just a little fire, barely even left a scorch mark and only took out one down comforter. And okay, fine. Maybe it wasn't a poltergeist. Maybe it was a raccoon. But we're in god-damn Boston, baby, and to my way of thinkin' it's much more likely to be a poltergeist in the city than a damn raccoon.
The third time's kind of your fault, sugar. Because I was way, way to distracted by that blowjob to remember about the burritto in the toaster oven. *crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a look*
Oh what the hell ever. Take that Sexy Jesus shit and peddlie it to someone who doesn't know better. *She's laughing as she punches him in the shoulder.*
You forget that I listen to you snore every night. That? Not sexy. The light I see is the alarm clock everytime you wake me up with your chainsaw impersonation.
*affronted, as he is every time she brings this up* Sexy Jesus doesn't snore, honey. You, however, are wipin' out the rain forests every night with all the logs you're sawin'.
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The third time's kind of your fault, sugar. Because I was way, way to distracted by that blowjob to remember about the burritto in the toaster oven. *crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a look*
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*no, he's still not over that, and yes, he still refers to himself as Sexy Jesus from time to time*
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