I lean on the table in a food stupor after ingesting a deliciously huge, medium-rare rib-eye steak. George makes a move to tickle me….
Me: Don’t tickle me. I’m too full and will hurl. I enjoyed it too much to lose it.
George: Well, you could always enjoy it a second time, a la Hoover [the dog, who cleans up his own vomit].
Me: You are disgusting.
George: Yes. I’m a dude. We’re halfway between chicks and dogs.
George: Okay, closer to dogs.
George: Ewww. You women think you’re soooo superior!