"Ooh, fack yaa" he exulted.
"Thanks, Szczerbs" replied Joe Smith, "That one's been roasting in the oven."
"D-lish" concurred Wally.
Wally Szczerbiak and Joe Smith were cruising down 35W in an all black Range Rover, in the midst of an absolute marathon of drinking that had lasted the better part of 3 days.
Szczerbiak was doing his best to follow the dotted lines while Smith was preparing a key bump, breaking down the eight ball of cocaine.
"Bitch, we going to The Vu tonight!" exclaimed Smith.
"You got dat damn straight" murmured Szczerbs in agreement. "Those bitches be thirsting for a Szczerby snack."
The glare of the streetlights splashed across their tinted windows, merry makers abounded on the Minneapolis streets, the moon invigorated human flesh, night owls hooted hedonism. Wally took his eyes off of the road for a moment to readjust his coif.
"That's fucking bitching" he thought to himself.
