You kids and your sex music. It's just sex, sex, sex.
I want the back seat of the GTO cleaned off, ASAP, or I'm not paying for your gas money anymore, kiddo... You have to pick your grandmother up from the doctors tommorrow, and I don't want her sitting there knowing she might get knocked up by one of your dry-swimmers, if you catch my drift. A-heh.
"Somebody told me when the bomb hits, everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated, but if you lay face down on the ground for some time, avoiding the residual ripples of heat, you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted like you're always underwater refracted. But if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do if the air that was once you is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules of the enemy's former body. Big-kid-tested, motherf--ker approved."
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