What Love Is Page #2

to close the deal,

and it's like flipper

on Prozac.

Have you ever had

a dead-fish f***?

I would rather have

a root canal.

These women think

that just being present

is all it takes

for bedroom artistry.

Maybe that works

for a guy that gets laid

every other leap year,

but for a guy like me,

a dead-fish f***

could have severe ramifications.

I can't believe she pulled

a high-school move like that

and brought a date to your bar.

I know.

That violates

two of the classic "nevers"

in the Geneva convention

of breaking up.

The first of which

is that you never,

under any circumstances, ever

are you supposed to hang out

in your ex's stomping grounds

after you break up!

Never!

It's a big city, right?

Right.

Why does she have to start

hanging out in our bar?

Never used to hang there before.

You're goddamn right.

What, there's not, like,

a million other bars in the city? No.

We don't want her there.

She's not welcome.

Hell, no.

You don't see us hanging out

at the lens crafters.

No.

And that is only second

to the most heinous

of violations

with the fact the two of you

just broke up this morning.

I broke up with her!

You dumped that Sandy-Duncan-

ass-cyclops this morning

and she comes into

our lens crafters on a date?

I mean, isn't there some kind

of statute of limitations

or time variable

or something

that makes

that unconstitutional?

It is f***ing bullshit, Tommy!

F***ing bullshit, Sal!

Will you keep it down?

You're gonna wake Karen.

She'll be down here

with her Frankenstein gear on.

Kenny. Speaking of Frankenstein,

how is your wife?

Sal broke up with Charlotte.

Which one's Charlotte?

The black fellow

that used to perform

with Dean Martin

and Sinatra.

Oh, yeah. She was nice.

You two not see eye to eye?

Does Karen wear that

green mud sh*t on her face?

Yes.

How is it you don't take

one look and get the sh*t

scared out of you?

Are you kidding? That's how

she keeps her skin young.

If that's true, I wish

she'd put some on her ass.

I love my wife, but there should

be some vow in the wedding

which covers ass size

after "I do. "

Like an insurance policy.

Brilliant, ass insurance.

Exactly.

There's more of her

for you to love.

That's easy for you to say.

Sara works out five days a week.

What?

W-what'd I say?

What happened?

Well, apparently...

She'll be working

on her arms this evening

when she carries

those two suitcases

out that door any minute.

What? Say "I swear to god. "

No.

It's true.

Three years, and I come home

to a dear John

and those two suitcases

sitting by the front door.

She's on her way over here.

I have no idea

what I'm gonna do.

Dear John.

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