“I felt I was being cheated in my marriage. I felt entitled to more.”
“So you don’t go out and get more from somebody else.”
“What am I supposed to do then?”
“You fix what you have, and get more out of that. That is how a marriage works.”
“I really tried.”
“Why did you quit trying?”
“I got the feeling that she wasn’t.” “Did you talk to her about it?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I didn’t think it would help.”
“And now you will never know, will you?”
“I guess I could try again, and see if she wants to talk about it?”
“What are you going to do if she says no?” “I don’t know.”
“You’re going to keep trying, stupid. What the fuck do you think this whole conversation has been about?”
“All right, I’ll keep trying. I guess it’s worth it.” “You guess?”
“Okay, it is.”
“Who are you trying to convince? If you don’t think it’s worth it, you owe her an explanation, and an agreeable divorce.”
“I don’t want to divorce her.” “And why the hell not?”
“I guess I love her.” “Again with the guessing!”
“Do you want another drink, or are you going to keep grilling me?”
“Okay, change the subject. How’s your back?”
“My back hurts. I went home and did 10 minutes worth of snatch work last night after I got done training with the lesbian lady.”
“Snatch, as in weights?”
“How did you know my back was bothering me? I ain’t said nothing about it?”
“Uh, I…Oh I don’t know. Maybe I saw you bending over in pain or something. How did you do it?”
“I was changing a tire for an older couple on my way home. It’ll be okay, it’s just a little stiff.”
“Like your pecker, eh?” “Ha-ha, Fuck you, Batiste!”
“You know, maybe you should see a chiropractor. I’ve always had a bad back, but mine was aggravated by not having furniture.”
“I’ve been to a chiropractor before. He just told me my x-rays look like I’d been hit by a trash truck.”
“Hey, did you see the news? There has been another video released by the rug-riders.”
“We can’t find a 6’6” towel-head on dialysis, but we find the one bovine in Saskatchewan with Mad Cow disease. I say let those people look for Bin Laden.”
“Count, the cows aren’t hiding.”
A barmaid shows up with a Morgan, knowing Count’s drink.
“The woman’s prime is killing me. When I was 18, I was afraid of standing up at the wrong time, thinking I might have a spontaneous erection.”
Another barmaid checks on us. “Is everything ok gentlemen?”
“You got any caffeine-free diet orange Shasta?” “No.”
“I guess I’ll have to have a Bud.” “Why do you always ask for that?”
“Because I don’t want it to be a lie when I tell my wife that I tried to ask for a pop first.”
Our poker partners arrive in the middle of a conversation…
“Nothing sticks to him; the mother fucker is Teflon.” “He is a 14-carat chicken-shit.”
“What the fuck did you just put in your Zima?” “Jolly Rancher.”
“Dude, only pussies drink Zima, and only chicks put Jolly Ranchers in them. Can’t you just drink a beer or something?”
“This place doesn’t have any real beer. All they have on tap is the typical swill. Can’t you take me someplace that carries Heineken or St. Pauli Girl?”
“Why would you want to ruin a good beer with a goldfish?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
As he produces a zip-loc bag from his jacket, Count proclaims, “We’re putting these in our beers. You have to drink it before the fish poops in your beer.”
“You are not putting a goldfish in my drink, and if you do, I will not drink it!”
“Oh, c’mon Heck, play nice.”
“You fuckers are crazy; I haven’t drank goldfish since I was in the Corps. What’s next, funnels? Then can we light our farts? Count, why does everything have to be a macho contest?”
“The snitching code is so rigid, that no middle ground is recognized.”
“So you don’t go out and get more from somebody else.”
“What am I supposed to do then?”
“You fix what you have, and get more out of that. That is how a marriage works.”
“I really tried.”
“Why did you quit trying?”
“I got the feeling that she wasn’t.” “Did you talk to her about it?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I didn’t think it would help.”
“And now you will never know, will you?”
“I guess I could try again, and see if she wants to talk about it?”
“What are you going to do if she says no?” “I don’t know.”
“You’re going to keep trying, stupid. What the fuck do you think this whole conversation has been about?”
“All right, I’ll keep trying. I guess it’s worth it.” “You guess?”
“Okay, it is.”
“Who are you trying to convince? If you don’t think it’s worth it, you owe her an explanation, and an agreeable divorce.”
“I don’t want to divorce her.” “And why the hell not?”
“I guess I love her.” “Again with the guessing!”
“Do you want another drink, or are you going to keep grilling me?”
“Okay, change the subject. How’s your back?”
“My back hurts. I went home and did 10 minutes worth of snatch work last night after I got done training with the lesbian lady.”
“Snatch, as in weights?”
“How did you know my back was bothering me? I ain’t said nothing about it?”
“Uh, I…Oh I don’t know. Maybe I saw you bending over in pain or something. How did you do it?”
“I was changing a tire for an older couple on my way home. It’ll be okay, it’s just a little stiff.”
“Like your pecker, eh?” “Ha-ha, Fuck you, Batiste!”
“You know, maybe you should see a chiropractor. I’ve always had a bad back, but mine was aggravated by not having furniture.”
“I’ve been to a chiropractor before. He just told me my x-rays look like I’d been hit by a trash truck.”
“Hey, did you see the news? There has been another video released by the rug-riders.”
“We can’t find a 6’6” towel-head on dialysis, but we find the one bovine in Saskatchewan with Mad Cow disease. I say let those people look for Bin Laden.”
“Count, the cows aren’t hiding.”
A barmaid shows up with a Morgan, knowing Count’s drink.
“The woman’s prime is killing me. When I was 18, I was afraid of standing up at the wrong time, thinking I might have a spontaneous erection.”
Another barmaid checks on us. “Is everything ok gentlemen?”
“You got any caffeine-free diet orange Shasta?” “No.”
“I guess I’ll have to have a Bud.” “Why do you always ask for that?”
“Because I don’t want it to be a lie when I tell my wife that I tried to ask for a pop first.”
Our poker partners arrive in the middle of a conversation…
“Nothing sticks to him; the mother fucker is Teflon.” “He is a 14-carat chicken-shit.”
“What the fuck did you just put in your Zima?” “Jolly Rancher.”
“Dude, only pussies drink Zima, and only chicks put Jolly Ranchers in them. Can’t you just drink a beer or something?”
“This place doesn’t have any real beer. All they have on tap is the typical swill. Can’t you take me someplace that carries Heineken or St. Pauli Girl?”
“Why would you want to ruin a good beer with a goldfish?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
As he produces a zip-loc bag from his jacket, Count proclaims, “We’re putting these in our beers. You have to drink it before the fish poops in your beer.”
“You are not putting a goldfish in my drink, and if you do, I will not drink it!”
“Oh, c’mon Heck, play nice.”
“You fuckers are crazy; I haven’t drank goldfish since I was in the Corps. What’s next, funnels? Then can we light our farts? Count, why does everything have to be a macho contest?”
“The snitching code is so rigid, that no middle ground is recognized.”
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