Remember when Sween first showed up and we were like: Who is this. What is he doing. What does he want from us. And then we learned he was Canadian, and liked comic books, and used to be a thespian, and we were all: OK, got it. And everything went great from then on.
Well I felt that old familiar blush of confusion after reading this question. Because I love peanut butter and I would never fling it at someone or … or how would you even use it as a melee weapon? Spread it on your hand and punch someone in the face? Why would you do that?
Here’s my advice: How about punching a nice piece of bread with your peanut butter hand and then missile-launching some jelly on another piece of bread and then just sit quietly and eat that shit and not be so violent all the time.
One day my kids brought home a male prostitute. “Can we keep him?” they cried. I folded my arms and said: “Are you going to feed him and play with him?” They were like: “Yes, Daddy, yes, of course!” I gave him a good long look, lingering for a moment on his gold lamé short shorts. “Oh all right,” I said, “but if he dies I’m not making a little tombstone out of popsicle sticks like I did with the last one.” And the kids cheered and dragged him out to the backyard where they had a great time running through the sprinklers. I shook my head and chuckled despite myself.
"Princess Leia! You will tell me the location of your hidden rebel base! I bet it’s in your panties!”
"Please don’t use that word."
"That’s it! Bring in … the probe droid.”
"Hang on a sec."
"What’s a matter, princess? Scared of the feelings my probe droid gives you? Titillated by the prospect of being probed real good?”
"Are you trying to do the torture scene with that floating ball with the hypodermic needle?"
"Oh my god. OK. Josh, that’s the IT-O interrogation droid. You’re thinking of the reconnaissance probe droid that was sent down to Hoth. Those were produced by Arakyd Industries. IT-O was designed by the Imperial Security Bureau."
"OK. Well then I’m about to interrogate your Sarlacc pit!”
"So you’re saying my vagina is a cavernous, toothy monster that slowly digests men for a thousand years."
"I … yeah. I mean, right? That’s hot."
"How would you like it if I said your penis was not unlike a dianoga?"
"Oh yeah baby. What’s that?"
"The gross slimy horrible little creature that lives in one of the [first] Death Star’s garbage compactors, feeding on trash like … what was her name? Sapphire? Your girlfriend in college?"
Did you hear that Prince is doing Purple Rain 3? HAHA J/K but seriously, what is your favorite curse word?
It’s not a word, but what I typically shout when upset at a coworker or customer service representative or the internet is a line from Prince’s “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” that goes: I sincerely wanna fuck the taste out of your mouth.
Future Me: [smashes through the living room window]
Today Me: Holy gosh!
FM: It’s me! Future You!
TM: Future Me?
FM: The fuck did I just say.
TM: OK, um, language?
FM: I use terrible language in the future. But if you’d seen what I’ve seen, you’d let the Q-bombs fly, too.
TM: I … what is the Q-bomb again?
FM: Quap. Maybe the worst thing you could ever say. It’s really bad. It makes you feel just awful to hear it or say it. But I mean whatever, the future is filled with stuff that just makes you yell the worst possible swear there is. That’s pretty much all we do anymore.
TM: Well maybe you could—
FM: Hey man. [gently caresses my shoulder] Sorry. Shouldn’t’ve said the Q word in front of you.
TM: It’s all right. I think I’m going to start using it. Sometimes I’ll be driving and I need to yell a bad swear but none of the ones I know really do it for me anymore.
FM: Dude. Listen. The Q word isn’t invented for another ten years. You start rolling down your window and calling some guy a quapo — sorry, that is so offensive — but you call a guy that and pretty soon the word’s all watered down and us in the future won’t have it. And we need it.
TM: Oh boo hoo. Why don’t you take your quapo haircut and get out of here? Right after you give me future money to fix my window.
FM: You’re being really hurtful right now.
TM: You can take it.
FM: We both know I can’t. We both know how fragile I am.
TM: I was hoping in the future I’d be a little tougher. Manlier.
FM: There are pills you can take but they aren’t cheap and we aren’t exactly making bank at our job at Future Fried Chicken.