-Where the F#$& are my F#$&ing socks?-And

-Where the F#$& are my F#$&ing socks?-And why the F#$& are you so mad about some F#$&ing socks?-Because they are my F#$&ing lucky socks.-And when the F#$& did you have a lucky day?

Counting it up, it appeared he owed about $1.50 to the cuss jar. I waited for him to calm down and ripped out that last gold tooth as downpayment. Gold was such a

slippery substance when combined with saliva. The tooth slipped and in my attempt to recover it, I knocked the cuss jar off the desk. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to empty it out

and $2,112.83 went spilling over my floor in loose change. What a day. As I (of course) cursed loudly, I began to choke on the loose tooth which had now lodged itself deeply in my

uvula, it was like a speedbag with a toaster taped to it. Trying to knock it loose my finger hit the Puke Button and I wretched. Half-digested reuben with Russian cream sauces

spewed across the floor of the diner like a burst balloon. Unfortunately the seeing-eye dog at the table next to ours couldn't resist and began furiously licking the regurgitated

"salmon fillet. It was gross enough the first time going in", I thought to myself, and watching the dog slop it up wasn't doing much for my appetite. My wife and I decided to

shag passionately. In the spirit of "If I go down I'm taking you with me," I had effectively ruined the dog's appetite as well. Now no one would eat the salmon fillet, except for

bring him/her the Big Mac. W hoped the Special Sauce would calm him. He took it and became less terrifying as he chewed, juices running down his chin. S/He was our beloved again.