pre-jesus xmas

“Did you fuck my wife?”

“What?”

“Did you fuck my wife?”

“[paus­es] How do you ask me that? I’m your broth­er and you ask me that? Where do you get your balls big enough to ask me that?”

“You’re very smart. You’re giv­ing me a lot of an­swers, but you ain’t giv­ing me the right an­swer. I’m gonna ask you again: Did you or did you not?”

“I’m not gonna an­swer that. It’s stu­pid. It’s a sick ques­tion and you’re a sick fuck and I’m not that sick that I’m gonna an­swer it. I’m leav­ing, If Bet­ty calls tell her I went home. I’m not stay­ing in this nut­house with you. You’re a sick bas­tard, I feel sor­ry for you, I re­al­ly do. You know what you should do? Try a lit­tle more fuck­ing and a lit­tle less eat­ing, so you won’t have prob­lems up­stairs in the bed­room where you have to pick on me and every­body else. You un­der­stand me, you fuck­ing wacko? You’re crack­ing up! Fuck­ing screw ball ya!”
 

San­ta is like

“how did I end up in the mid­dle of this shit?”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Hol­la if you read this in their voic­es.
 
 

—ja­son malm­berg

Flom­mist Ja­son Malm­berg is a sim­ple man who be­lieves in brown liquor and small dogs. He also makes art some­times. Copy­right © 2016 Ja­son Malm­berg.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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