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“Those are fucking heinous.” Dave takes a long, obnoxious sip on his Jamba Juice straw. “Trust you to have no actual taste.”
“I got taste, it just ain’t in line with yours, motherfucker,” you mutter as you hold up the purple acid wash jeans. They come in a 40” inseam. You think you might be in love with these glorious-ass creatures.
“What about those bright red jeans over there—” he starts to suggest, pointing with his cup hand, and you smack the mostly-full cup out of his hand to splatter on the floor. “Jesus, Gamzee, do you know how fucking expensive Jamba Juice is? I barely even got to drink it, you piece of shit!”
“Stop disrespectin’ the fuckin’ miracle pants and maybe I’ll get you another one!” you say, laughing as Dave stands over his dead drink and pouts about it.
“‘Miracle pants’? Wow, my dick just inverted. Forever. I will never get a boner for you ever the fuck again. All boner ability lost to the Shadow Realm.” He gives the cup a little nudge with his foot. “Anyway you don’t have any money to be getting me Jamba Juice, dumbass.”
“That’s the truth, Ruth, I only got cash and love for these here pants.” And you hug the pants to your face, ignoring Dave’s groans behind you.
“I am not letting you watch any more Spike Lee movies if you’re going to abuse the quotes like that.”