Scene: A random Friday night at a small dive bar around midnight. The joint is filled with people; standing room only. The waitresses zip around patrons, giving it their best go in the task of keeping the drink orders filled and the ashtrays emptied. The jukebox is playin’, the pool balls are clickin’, the barflys are howlin’, and the air is thick with carcinogen vapors. Cut to two thirtysomething women up on bar stools laughing uproariously and weaving back and forth in their seats as only the seriously shnockered can. Several empty shot glasses (one of which has been licked clean) and several empty bar glasses and bottles litter the table. You can tell that although the table is full of revelers, these two chicks are deep into their own conversation. Well, as deep as two drunk chicks can get, anyway.
Drunk Chick 1: [slurring a little]…but I tell ya what, though… karma’s a bitch.
Drunk Chick 2: [slurring a lot] A vindictive, conniving bitch.
DC1: Yep, she’ll bycha rightinna ass.
DC2: Then you know whahya got?
DC1: No, what?
DC2: [deadpan] Bloody Butt Stitches.
[wait for it… just one moment]
[they simultaneously bust out laughing, practically fall off their bar stools, giggling so good it tests their already shaky continence]
[then ordered another round]
[and then took the obligatory hold-the-camera-in-front-of-you shot at the bar]