“Where's the fun in fucking if the fucker can't slam the fuckee into a wall or two?”
“I thought you an' I'd already settled the roles in the fucker/fuckee relationship! I guess I thought wrong!”
“And suddenly, it's as if there's no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.”
“Prickomo fucking cocksca. That bastard old arsehole-fucker.”
“If they have to drag some of you fucking fuckers out of here in body bags, I will be so fucking stoked.”
“Where's the fun in playing with knives if you can't draw a little blood?”