TRUE LOVE

GIRL-it occurs to me that you are a weenie- never writing on my wall. what- is your chicken wrist too weak to pick up the imaginary chalk and write? getting drunk and feisty all by myself- you are lucky you're not here or i'd.....
BOY-You're lucky I'm not there or i'd check out the new custom removable features of your new eye sockets.
feeling a little frisky under the spell of that sticky sweet nazi liquor are we, call me names do you, well, well well...this will go down on your permanent record, and you will be held accountable, what will I do, hmm, perhaps make you pee your pants in public again..
GIRL-i always feel such a personal warmth, similar to a pre-moistened towelette, such as one might obtain through the local southern deep fried chicken eating establishment, when i get the proverbial rise out of you; the sexually charged veiled threats of great harm to my being- similar to the fuzzy feeling of applying the oven warmed aforementioned towelette to my quivering genitals.
BOY-Ah yes darling, to craft the appropriate response to being classified as a weenie, as the puerile insults fly back and forth through the ether, there is some brain matter left to acknowledge from whence these barrel bottom scrapings came.
From you, you started it, this time, perhaps you should not engage in activities which you do not enjoy. Like the volatile compounds in the aforementioned single serving cleansing device, one can decide to light them on fire, and suffer the disastrous effects of burning the shit out of your face and hands, metaphorically of course, or, when the urge strikes you to venture out on your plank and hurl demeaning insults at the fixer of your broken household items, realize it always ends badly, and perhaps some other activity would be more suitable, like, making me some attractively chiaroscurro garment to compliment my rugged features and complex nature.
Next time, rest assured, I will simply ignore your teenage outburst.