slam therapy

A conversation I overheard at Vida in Rosebank yesterday:

Guy: Let's slam our ex's.

Girl: Awesome. What have you got – hit me. Let's go ballistic.

Guy: OK. Mine is a manipulative slapper, who is insipid and useless, and insecure, and thus tries to be friendly with everyone to make herself feel better - and she is a dumbass going out with a spastic arrogant wannabe actor-marketing manager.

Girl: My ex has half a penis, with too many complexities to be deemed even sub-human. As well as a tiring, selfish demeanour whereby he only ever thinks of himself and his own needs, and all he cares about is his fucking life and no one else's, and is the most useless piece of pratt shit talker in this world. I talk shit, but at least it's fucking coherent.

And he has a saggy ass. And his legs, let's not talk about his stupid, beautifully irritating legs.
He is a religious bigot who actually is a useless, trite idiot with not much to give back to society.

Guy: This is therapy.

Girl: Quite.

Guy: I see her picture on Facebook and want to puke, not because she affects me, because she's a bloody idiot.

Girl: Mine's a bullcrap bullcrapper who talks the biggest load of shit in a verbose manner to show how fucking intellectual he is, when in truth he hasn't finished a book in three years. And is now he's potentially seeing some wallflower, who is a fucking idiot with the personality of a piece of rhino dung and a fucking large nose, with, let us not forget: a stray ginger gene what with all those freckles. And she smells funny.

Guy: Mine is pyscho and schizophrenic. She talks to angels.

Girl: My ex apparently designs houses for a living, but actually works on a mine dump in Joburg CBD with his stupid prick colleagues, who can't even hold a normal conversation. Designing houses actually equates to drawing a picture of a whole bunch of rooms, but talks like he's a fucking rock star but he's actually just a poor little rich boy with no clue about life or love and is a loveless bastard.

Guy: Bejeesum. You just took it to the next level.

Girl: Aren't our ex's mates? Yes they are! No wonder, it's because they THEY'RE BOTH SO VACUOUS.

(waiter interrupts them to ask if they'd like another coffee, or maybe a sedative.)

Guy: Maybe she likes his half-penis. My ex has bonked half of Joburg to make herself feel better for being fuckin' useless.

Girl: My ex would bonk half of Joburg if he wasn't such a useless self-righteous prick.

By now, I was openly staring in wonder.

Peas: Sorry chaps, don't mean to butt in, but can't help overhearing. Can...I join in?

Guy: As long as you bitch about your ex.

Peas: Oh, it would be my pleasure.

Girl: My ex has the worst upper torso I have ever seen on a man, with stringy arms, strange black chest hair that envelopes his nipples and, not one, but at least three spare tyres.

Guy: Mine has an odourous vagina. OK, I'm lying. But it felt good to say that.

Peas: Did she eat Nik Naks?

Guy: Yeah, why?

Peas: Cos my stupid, loud-mouth ex boyfriend once told me and my mates that Nik Naks give girls a smelly poen.

Girl: Your ex was always eating Nik Naks when I saw her.

Guy: Hey, that's true! SHE WAS A NIK NAK GUZZLING STINKER!

Peas: One of my ex's ate Nik Naks too. He smashed them in his face. That's probably why his penis didn't smell like a bunch of roses either.

Guy: My ex bangs everyone to stay in shape, except she still has an ass the size of a bus.

Girl: My ex's ass is so saggy it's trailing on the floor AND he does exercise. Oh and he's going bald.

Peas: I have an ex whose legs would nearly break when I sat on him.

I finished my coffee and left. Feeling great.

Then I met up with Satan, Stalin and Adolf in Hell – had a few drinks with them, bonked Stalin senseless, had his spawn, high-fived Satan and thanked the big fat fuck for giving me the sensibility to realise that Earth is a place to go fucking crazy on.

See all you in the fiery furnace. It's going to be one helluva party, fuckers.