“In the hysterical technocracy of modern music, sorrow is sent to the back of the class where it sits, pissing its pants in mortal terror.”
“Did you piss your pants, Eric?” “Sed did it.” “Sed pissed your pants?” Trey shook his head slightly. “Man, that takes pissed off to a whole new level.”“I think that’s pissed on, not off,” Brian said.”
“To Suspect your Own Mortality is to Know the Beginning of Terror; To Learn Irrefutably that you are mortal is to Know the End of Terror.”
“If I pee my pants I am going to be so pissed.”
“[I hear phone sex can work], I sent, [but I kind of doubt text-sex would.]He sent me a picture shot down his pants. I snickered and sent him a picture of my mouth.[autehigixuhi&^%$], he sent back. Then, [yeah, phone sex not satisfying. Also I think I dick-dialed Kentucky.]”
“My combat action has commenced... I've pissed my pants, but only a little.”