“Hey, DeCoria, do you want to dance?”
No I don’t want to dance, you zit-faced, fat moron. what do you think? I have taste, after all.
“Sure.”
“So how are you?”
Fine until you asked me to dance. You’re so sweaty. It’s disgusting. And you have terrible B.O.! Haven’t you heard of deodorant? Everyone at this stupid, boring dance is ugly and sweaty. Why did I bother getting ready? Furthermore, what is the point of a Spring Singles Ball?
“Great, actually. I like this dance.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Don’t chuckle like that. You’re so ugly when you do that. Actually, you’re ugly no matter what you do.
“But mainly I like the people in it.”
Ughh! You did NOT just say that! And you smiled at me? You, with your gunk-covered braces, smiled at me??? Oh, no!
“Yeah, me too.”
Silence. Bliss and nirvana, finally. Well, as bliss-&-nirvana-y as you can get in the arms of an ugly sweaty dude.
“Oh, look, the song’s over. What a pity. Well, bye, I enjoyed dancing with you, Tom.”
“Me too.”
“Bye now, I’m going to say hi to my friends.”