Why can’t she be the evil wench who’s been barking at me for the last few weeks, rather than the nice girl in the store helping me pick up my nuts? The store’s nuts, not my nuts. She’s not picking up my nuts. My nuts are secure in their briefs, not on display. The store’s nuts. “Store’s nuts,” I whisper for God knows what reason. “What’s that?” Fuck. Get it together, man.
