What was that? What did you just say? I don’t think I heard you clearly. You wanna step over here and repeat, slowly and clearly, what you just said about my Man Candles™?
I don’t think you made a smart remark about my 2×4™ candle, because I’m sure you’re aware that if you did, I’d take one of the actual 2x4s that I have out in the shed and break it across your goddamn nose. I’m sure you’re aware that I keep this powerful candle in the bathroom for your comfort so that you can enjoy the soft scent of pine rather than the ripping crest of man-scent created by my he-shit.
You wouldn’t have said anything uncharitable about my Riding Mower™ candle, because obviously you’re aware of the impracticality of hauling sod into my bedroom and pausing to ride a mower over it in the heat of sexual relations with this bangin’ babe whose ass I’m fondling right now. It gives me 110-150 hours of fragrance, and you better believe I need those 150 hours, bub.
It’s possible that you made mention of my First Down™ candle, and if so, I’m sure your comment was something very complimentary. I eat my pigskin, jack—I don’t use it to scent my goddamn living room. That’s what I have this motherfucking candle for!
Was it my Man Town™ candle you were talking about? I don’t think it could have been, because naturally you would have assumed that the masculine blend of spices, woods, and musk permeating the air right now was coming from the cum I just deposited in my shorts when I thought about how much I’d enjoy breaking your scrawny little neck. No way, josé—I bottle my cum and sell it on eBay. But then, I think you know that, because I just FedExed two quarts to your mom.