He pulled a smokey biscuit from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth. He searched for a lighter.

"Do you need a light?" she emerged with a lit match. The deliberate inversion of a subtle courtship signal was obvious, but an afterthought to the pang of addiction. Cupping his hands around the flame, he inhaled, deeply. "Thank you, so this is what it feels like to be a chick?"
She shook the flame from the match and tossed it in the ashtray.
Puffing in silence, their smoke thickened and curled around them like a wall of indifference. Eventually, she rubbed hers out with the toe of her red stiletto, he stamped out his, and they went back into the club.

"Frank's wife refuses to have sex with him so he has to lubrihafen himself with diarrhea."

After an intense day of cutting open UPS packages in the mail room, Bob used his manchete to pry off a beer cap, clean his fingernails and cut open a bag of jerky.

John: "What did you step in? There's q-sauce all over your Ugg boots."

Jane: "No worries, some twat ran into me at lunch and spilled his red Jello."

Oh my god! Brad came in my ass last night and today I keep having pootskeet after pootskeet!

you are my lola
i love you lola