“Cut the crap and tell me what color panties you’re wearing.”

“What color are your panties?""Excuse me?""You heard me.""Why?""Baby, if I'm going to take you into a room full of men wearing that dress, I'm damn well going to be the only one who knows the color of your panties.”

“What color are your panties?”

“I can’t cut back. I’ve turned into a sex addict. I get within a foot of Ranger or Morelli and I’m ready to go … and go, and go, and go, and go.”“That’s a lot of going. I’m a retired professional, and it’d be a lot of going even for me. What you need are granny panties. You put on a big ol’ pair of ugly granny panties and you won’t be dropping your drawers no more. And even if you forget in the heat of the moment, and you pull your skirt up over your head, you’re not gonna see no action on account granny panties have a deflating effect on a man. Your man’s gonna be going unh ah, no way am I getting busy with a woman wearing granny panties.”

“Running me off, are you? What about all this ‘me Breed, you mate’ crap you’re always spouting?”

“A professor I had in college used to tell me that if someone won’t listen to what you have to say because you’re not wearing a tie, then put on a tie, ’cause what you have to say is more important than not wearing a tie. He was right.”