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.
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.