The Banter Report
In front of the TV, with my girlfriend engrossed in a documentary about the death of Michael Jackson.
TV narrator: … then Jackson began complaining that one side of his body was hot, the other cold.
Me: Like a McDLT!
My girlfriend gives me the finger. Meanwhile, I imagine a young, hirsute Jason Alexander doing a song-and-dance commercial to extol the virtues of Michael Jackson’s dead body.
* * *
On a walk.
Me: Oh man, I just punished the toilet today. I might as well just have stood over it and screamed, “I hate you!” into it.
My girlfriend: Tears all streaming down your face.
Me: Oh, I had tears streaming down my face. Poor toilet. Of all the furniture, it gets the least respect.
My girlfriend: The toilet isn’t furniture. If anything, it’s an appliance.
Me: What? Name one appliance you sit on.
My girlfriend: The washing machine. During the spin cycle. [looking defensive] What?
I make a mental note to not let my girlfriend go to the laundromat anymore.
* * *
Me: I don’t go for all that “daddy” and “baby” stuff. A dog isn’t like your child. It’s more like your slave, if you really want to put in in human terms.
Unidentified female friend: If my dog were my slave, he’d be getting me a beer right now.
Me: Of course, you’d still be having sex with it.
Unidentified female friend: Well, what’s the point of having a slave if you don’t have sex with it? It’s like the ultimate RealDoll.
Upon realizing this exchange will be printed online, female friend demands to remain unidentified.
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