Dave: So anyway, check out my brand new truck. This thing cost fifty grand.
Me: I can’t wait to smoke a cigarette in it.
Dave: You smoke a cigarette in it, you’ll be dodging traffic at about seventy miles an hour.
Me: You’re gonna let me drive?
Dave: I’m gonna let you die.
Me: You know, I always thought rich people would be happier than you.
Dave: I’m not rich. I’m married.

Ben: Yeah, this truck rides sweet. Hey, stop in at that McDonalds and we’ll get some grub.
Dave: Okay, but we got to eat inside. I want this truck to smell as new as it can for as long as it can.
Me: I feel the same way about my women. That’s why I only date high school chicks.
Dave: And you wonder why my wife hates it when we hang out.

Dave: In twenty minutes, we’ll be chilling at the beach, drinking rum runners and staring at?holy shit what is that smell?
Me: What smell?
Dave: Dude, did you fart?
Me: Oh, that smell. Yeah.

Dave: You’re not allowed to fart in my car.
Me: Dude, I can’t control my own farts. They just happen.
Ben: Like clouds. Little, stinky clouds.

Dave: You’re telling me that you can’t control your own bowels? Are you an adult or aren’t you?
Me: Look motherfucker, this ain’t a first date. I’m not sitting in the back with a puckered asshole just because you bought a new truck.
Ben: Uh oh. I just let one.
Dave: You nasty bastards.
Me: Hey man, blame Ray Kroc.

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Ben: Who’s Ray Kroc?
Me: He’s the guy who founded McDonalds. He went from selling milkshake mixers to being one of the richest men in America.
Dave: Wow, that’s really interesting. Can I roll the windows up now, or is Ray Kroc gonna make you fart again?
Ben: I’d keep ’em down if I were you. I have a feeling Ray’s all about the farts.

Me: That would make a great motto for a greasy spoon: “We’re all about the farts.”
Ben: Yeah, that makes me salivate.
Dave: I’m getting hungry already.
Me: You guys just don’t recognize genius when you smell it.
Dave: Dude, quit fucking farting. Man, I hate you sometimes.