Possible Logic

Paul Beckman

"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full, Carla." 
"Yeah, but you ashked me a question." 
"The answer could've waited until you finished chewing." 
"Says you, Simon." 
“This really bothers me a lot. Tell me—is there anything I do that bothers you this much?"
"How much is this much?”
"On a scale from one to ten?"
"Ish ten high or low?"
"Ten is high."
"No. A couple of sixes, but that's about it. I'm not the type who would even mention it if you didn't ask. We’re getting married and what you see is what you get for many years to come."
"Even though you know it bothers me, you wouldn't change your eating habits?"
"You never complain about my boobs, my ass, or the way I make love." 
"I want to reconsider our engagement."
"Was it my boobs, my ass, or our lovemaking?"
"No. In all honesty it's your mother."
"What the hell’s my mother got to do with this?"
"You know how you're always saying your mother looked just like you at your age?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Then chances are good you'll look like her when you’re her age."
"So?"
"I can't imagine having sex with your mother."
"Are you crazy? No one's suggesting you have sex with my mother.”
"True, but all I can see when I look at you is your fat-assed mother with a couple of hairs on her chin, and I don't think I'll be able to get it up anymore."
"Order me a Tiramisu for desert, Simon, then call me a cab."
"We were having a discussion, Carla. You don't have to go all hormoney on me."
"I'm not; I just realized I couldn't stand spending the rest of my life with you having these kinds of discussions."
"How about you forget the cab, I take you home, and we get it on one last time?"
"Okay, but don't start screaming out my mother's name when we're doing it or I'll stop you right on the spot."
"Deal. Here, use this napkin for the Tiramisu on your chin."