"Fuck you, get your own Doritos,“ Kastor grumbled, chucking a ridiculously tiny and pretentious champagne grape at him for good measure. Which he instantly regretted because they were damn good and probably going to be the only good thing about the damned party, judging by the shitty house music and sloppy drunks. Who the fuck was sloppy drunk at 8 PM, anyway? Fucking losers, probably.
”… Sorry, that was rude. You can have my finger sandwiches, I didn’t realize they were fuckin’ tuna. That sounds like an aphrodisiac or some shit and I’m not about that life.“ It’s a terrible joke but he was trying not to be a complete ass about the whole thing. It was a bad pain day and moving sucked but his brain wasn’t being a complete shit, so, he decided to take what he could get and grin and bare the rest. And sulk because parties never went well for him, but, y’know, while grinning.
🙜 cont. from here. @mcnticellos.
Truth is, everyone’s a sloppy drunk by 8 PM if they drink enough. For some, that’s half a beer, for some it’s half a keg, but whatever gets you there, right? For Thomas, it’s somewhere between the two. And, it’s definitely not beer, but that’s besides the point. The point is, Kastor is right: he was rude — past tense only because Thomas is hoping that’s going to stop.
Which it doesn’t, of course, and Thomas rolls his eyes; how silly, to think the mockery might end. Oh, no. Kastor starts on about his choice of words and Thomas is so over it he might haul his ass out to the ocean, catch a goddamn tuna, and bring it back just to slap Kastor in the face with it. Little shit.
‘ D’y’know how tuna gets t’ be tuna? Two consenting adult tunas fuck and a li’l while later, a baby tuna pops out. That baby tuna grows the fuck up and probably fucks another tuna, and then some time later it gets canned and put on your fuckin’ sandwiches. So, yeah, they’re fuckin’ tuna, same way you’re bein’ a fuckin’ JACKASS. ‘
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