Perfect Imperfections

Bob and me are chilling in my room. We've been watching the Touretts Guy on YouTube for a while, and it was starting to get boring. Then, Bob's phone rang.

"Hello, Bob and Frank's Condom Service, would you like to take a gander at our inventory?" he said in a buissness-like voice. I cracked up at this.

"Haha, hey Mike, what's up?" Bob giggled into the phone.

"At that weird kid's house?" he wondered. I was wondering what he was talking about.

"Yea, we'll be there. What about the hooch?" he asked. Hooch? Who was having a party?

"Hell yesum! See ya there, Mike-ums!" he yelled and shut his phone, "Frankie-doodle, we're going to a party."

"Hell yes, bitches!!! When do we leave?" I asked.

"At 9. It's like... 7 now. So I guess we chill,'' he replied.

"Chill? When there's makeup to be put on? Fuck no, we must beautify ourselves!" I joked.

He took it seriously, apparently. "Dammit, Frank, if you try to put eyeliner on me, I'll break your...Um...weenis!!!"

I laughed, "Wow, Bob, what a threat!!"

"Whatever, just don't put that girly shit on me," he sulked.

"Okay, I was kidding anyway. I swear, you couldn't detect sarcasm if it was up your ass!" I jested.

"You wish it was up your ass!" he shot back.

''True,'' I agreed.

He gave me a repulsed look and threw a pillow at me. We both went into a laughing fit after that.