J: He was a cool guy before that. We partied and did all kinds of crazy things. Good memories. When he started dating her, he banned all talk of our exploits involving drugs, girls or explosives. After that, there wasn’t anything to talk about. You can count on it happening to you if you break your clavicle again.
D: I’d have to break my head!
J: Don’t be too sure.
D: Oh, I’m sure. I’ve dated my share of Mormon girls. Not once have I even French kissed one, or any girl of any religion.
J: You’re not required to have physical contact with a Mormon girl to marry one.
D: Well, that’s a relief. I’m allergic to boobs and coochies.
J: All you need to do is buy a house in suburbia, go to church, and ignore the fact that the mailman spends a lot of time at your house (which is why you have half a dozen Hispanic kids).
D: You know how I feel about kids. And the mailman would be doing me, not her. You know, Mormon repression. Go on a mission, come back gay.
J: Well, you’ll have to find some way to keep up appearances.