The Banter Report
In the backyard at my girlfriend’s parents’ house
My girlfriend: Stop playing with my father’s gun! You’re going to hurt yourself!
Me: Don’t be ridiculous — I can’t possibly hurt myself doing this. [pricking thumb on rifle’s sight] Ow! Fine. [puts down rifle]
My girlfriend: Thanks for the anxiety attack.
Me: That’s a stupid thing to be anxious about. Your feelings are stupid. There — do you feel better?
My girlfriend: I guess so.
“This is a good idea,” I later say as my girlfriend’s brother and I cut down a wasp’s nest and throw it on a bonfire, followed by a barbecue lighter.
* * *
At a local Mexican restaurant, listening to a mariachi band.
Female friend: I feel like I’m in Tijuana!
Me: Except this time you’re not fucking a donkey in front of a crowd for money!
A big laugh from the table, and no denial from my friend. I then go on a tangent about how an absent friend recently began a herbal cleanse ostensibly for weight-loss purposes but in actuality because she actually wants diarrhea in order to better enjoy the honeymoon period with the German man she recently began dating.
* * *
Me: Holy cow, that girl is swinging really high.
My girlfriend: Stop staring at the little girls. You’re going to get a bad reputation in the neighborhood.
Me: Hey, I do my part for the community! I registered as a sex offender!
We speculate about what might be on the actual registration form for sex offenders. (“Number of creepy, windowless vans … One.”) Then, while passing through another park on the way home, I see a small boy on the other side of a chain link fence urinating on a bush, heedless of the pedestrians passing by behind him, and I gasp in horror at seeing his little uncircumcised penis.
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