Husband: I don’t care what anyone says, I’m against terrorism.
Wife: I know honey, but do you have to put that sticker on our window?
Husband: Yes I do Sara. I’m really against terrorism. I mean, how else would people know I am super against terrorism?
Wife: I know you have strong feelings about terrorism John, but I feel strange driving around a car that has the F-word on it.
Husband: Hey you knew when you married me that I’m against three things - terrorism, shark attacks and muscular dystrophy.
Wife: I know, it was in our vows.
Husband: And the only reason I don’t have a “Fuck Shark Attacks” and “Fuck Muscular Dystrophy” sticker is because they don’t make them, yet.
Wife: Well if you are against terrorism as much as you say you are, why don’t we do our part and trade in our 4x4 gas guzzling Jeep SUV for a more fuel efficient car, so we can help wean our country of its dependence on foreign oil, which seems to be at the root of so many of our problems.
(Long beat of silence)
Husband: Number one, there has been way too much eye contact from you during this conversation. You know how I feel about you looking at me in the eyes.
Wife: (looks down) Yes I know.
Husband: The only people I let look at me in the eyes are football players and Jesus.
Wife: I know, it was in our vows.
Husband: Second, I am not going to trade in my SUV and “do my part”, because I’m already doing my part. Do you see the “Fuck Terrorism” sticker on the window? Do you?!
(He emphatically points to the sticker)
Wife: Yes I see it.
Husband: How many cars do you see on the road everyday that blows people’s minds?
Wife: Just yours…
Husband: Your damn right mine. That’s why I drive everywhere. Because if I’m not driving, I’m not fucking terrorism.
Wife: The amount you drive makes no difference…
Husband: You can tell your friends I cheat on you. That’s how hard I’m fucking terrorism right now by having this sticker.
Wife: John, every sane person is against terrorism!
Husband: Then why don’t they have a goddamn sticker!
(Silence. Exasperated, the wife walks away)
Husband: Exactly! Now grab a coat and get in the car. I hear there’s a gas station in Valencia that sells “Fuck Shark Attacks” beach towels. I’d be damned if I go to the beach and not let people know about my stance on aquatic assaults. Sharks are the arabs of the sea Sara. Sara?
My friend Ron is really fucking funny.
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