Ohhh, no way! Your name is Molly? Like the drug?
Yes, stoner ass hole. That is exactly right. Just like the drug.
Really? That’s bad ass, man.
Oh, man, I know. My parents were bad ass. I actually have a sister named Mary Jane and another named Lucy.
What? Get out, that’s the shit.
True conversation, folks. Nothing but rock solid, absolute golden nuggets of reality here.
You have to remember where I work. What I do. I get people drunk for a living. And the other half of the time, I’m trying to protect the rest of society from blithering idiots by preoccupying them with my undeniable wit and cleverness.
Sometimes, I start to feel irritated that this is my job. That I’m forced to deal with people who vary on the scale of annoyances from Pretentious Ass Hat all the way to I Need My Mother to Talk to Women.
Never fear, though. The other day I was at the mall and there was this little kiosk with a man who’s entire job is to throw these little gelatinous globule thingies that go splat on the ground. His. Entire. Job.
So. There’s that.