the art of conversation

So I get an email from Lindsay the other day that simply states: Ass Fuck

Well, if she wants to stimulate yet another mature conversation saturated in depth and context, I am of course game. I reply: Tittie Licker

Lindsay, always being one for wit and substance, replies: Nob Snurfler

Emails consisting of one line; rife with intellectualism yet beautiful in their simplicity. And so it continues...

M: rim job cornholer
L: chufty muncher
M: nob gobbling pooty face. and btw, sod off you cheeky bint... quit being a piss artist and go trim your manky minge.
L: I have pulled out the big guns now. Hammock sucking (panty Liner), Geeze bag (fart bag), Disco fanny (The full strength flavor achieved by giving it a full nights dancing in a hot sweaty bar)

I attempt to give credit where it is due: set and match. damn.

Apparently neither the witty banter of our dialogue nor my congratulatory concession has quenched her thirst, and she entreats for more: Come on weenis you have to keep going.

Then I reply with vigor: Well then perhaps I'll take my hairy goolies and rub them about your gob-smacked mug, you jammy twatted poofter slag

A single tear is forming in my eye right now. She is my most special friend.