You’re more of a juice-box man, from what I gather. The way I gather this is by looking at the stain on my ninety-eight-dollar pants, the one you made when you put your juice box there. If I touched your pants, Timmy, I would probably be sent to jail. There are lots of differences between you and me, but that’s one of the big ones: the quality and the seriousness of what happens when we touch other people’s pants.
Shouts & Murmurs: Making Friends: Humor: The New Yorker
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