Hey! Watch where you’re crunching those Cheetos. You’re going to get fuckin’ Cheetos all over my outfit. I don’t want to smell like fuckin’ Cheetos when I go to the bar. I’d rather smell like malt liquor, so the bitches know I’m drunk.
(And later…)
Okay, look out for the johnson. You start pounding around down there, you can hurt a brother. You’re hitting the tes…tes…testicle area. That’s not cool.