Shannon and I were texting trying to coordinate a movie night with our families. Every day that she would suggest would be shot down because Joe had already made plans for us. As you are reading please remember that we are ladies...not men. And....go:
Shannon: That's it. I'm going to have to kill him. I just don't see a way around it. But we have to kill him like Jason Statham would kill somebody. We can't do it regular.
Me: Yep. We need to use the accent as well.
Shannon: I second that. And we have to be awesomely hot while we do it because that's how he would do it.
Me: Yes. We need a motorcycle. Or...a classic car. With changeable plates.
Shannon: And we need muscles and to smell fantastic no matter how much we sweat.
Me: We will sweat pure sex. It will serve as a distraction.
Shannon: And our balls will be shorn by the feathers of angels wings. (This has deteriorated so badly.)
Me: In true Amber/Shannon fashion.
Shannon: And the flexing of our leg muscles will cause tsunami's.
Me: We will carry our own custom made seats that have a cradling section just for our balls...it will of couse be reinforced with the steel of cannons.
Shannon: For our balls are made of steel and require cradling.
Me: That was implied. If not cradled they will bust through any manmade fabric or material.
Shannon: Our balls are kryptonite to mere mortals and the Gods shudder at our laser shooting nipples.
Me: I don't want my nipples to shoot things, you can have that one. Mine cut glass perhaps? That seems useful.
Shannon: I WANT LASER NIPPLES...that do not react to cold.
Me: You can have them, mine are glass cutting diamonds.
Bam. You're dead.