Language

“That’s the eighth time you’ve dropped the F’ bomb. Do you mind?”

“My life has just gone in the shitter and you’re counting how many times I said the word fuck.”

“You’re thirty-five not fifteen, you’d think you could come up with another way of expressing yourself without every other word out of your mouth being the f-bomb.”

“Well Hallelujah, if it ain’t the vocabulary police. What are you going to do? Arrest me for swearing, Miss perfect.”

“Ooooo, that’s freakin hilarious, tell me if I was so freakin perfect, what am I doing in the middle of nowhere trying to help you hide dead bodies?”

“Hypocrite. You say ‘freaking’ so much you might as well be saying f-ing. And I know you’re trying to help me. But can you lay off the lecture for a couple of hours? You’ve been ragging on me about something since we were kids.”

“I wasn’t ragging as you put it… I just said…”

“I heard what you said, and I am telling you enough already. I just want to finish this. Go home, get on a plane, and join my husband in the Bahamas for the vacation we’ve been planning for six months.”

“You’re seriously going on vacation after murdering the Sheriff?”

“Will you just shut up and add a few more rocks over his body, I can still see him. We still have Deputy Tucker to take care of.”

“I bet Amy Tucker wishes she could go on vacation with her husband.”

“Shut the Fuck up. Tucker was a good man who didn’t deserve to be shot by Jerimiah. He was trying to protect me from the miserable SOB. What the hell is your problem, anyway?”

“Guess! You call me at three in the morning to bail you out of another mess. And drag me into your deranged love triangle… square thingy. Guilt trip me into helping you get rid of the evidence. Being your twin doesn’t mean we share everything.”

“If helping your twin sister stay out of prison is so hard, just leave. Every time I get into trouble, you must let me know how superior you are. Take your high morals and get lost.”

“Oh now, I’m supposed to go… now that we’ve buried the sheriff and tossed the deputy or about to toss the deputy into the lake. You know what, this reminds me of that Clapton song.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t shoot the Sherriff.”

“No, you just repeatedly hit him over the head with a baseball bat after he shot Deputy Tucker.”

“Can we just finish please? I can’t feel my hands or my feet. And stop humming that damn song.”

“Or what you’ll kill me too?”

“Exactly.”

“Fine. But you should’ve shot the sheriff and blamed it on the deputy. Then we wouldn’t have to be here in the dark hiding the bodies. Grab his legs. I have his arms. One…two…Three, let go.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome, now let’s get the f-out of here.”

“Look who’s dropping the f-bomb now.”

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