Mildred: Excuse me. You're eating my peach.
Bucket: I haven't eaten anything.
Mildred: Alright, you're holding my peach.
Mildred: So, it's mine. The peach, in your hand.
Bucket: I don't see your name on it.
Mildred: And who would do that?
Bucket: Do what?
Mildred: Put their name on a peach.
Bucket: Somebody who really wanted it.
Mildred: And how would someone go about such a thing.
Bucket: I don't know, felt tip?
Mildred: No one has ever put their name on a peach with a felt tip.
- Permalink: No one has ever put their name on a peach with a felt tip.
Clerk: Here's that map you asked for, ma'am.
Mildred: Thank you.
Clerk: May I ask why you're headed to Lucia?
Mildred: That seems like a rather personal question now, doesn't it?
Mildred: Clearly, your tumescence has distracted you, sir. I recall asking for today's local paper.
Clerk: Oh, sorry. Here you go. Yeah, it's big news around here. Everybody's up in arms. A fella cuts up a bunch of priests and they ship him up to Lucia. Hey, that's where you're headed. You're not some sort of journalist, or something, are you?
Mildred: You should bathe more often. Your finger nails are filthy.
- Permalink: You should bathe more often. Your finger nails are filthy.
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