Jim: Ya’ll ever get one of those massages at the airport?
Randy: Oh, hell no. I’m afraid I’ll see someone I know.
Me: No. I’m afraid I’ll fart.
*Randy bows his head and shakes it back and forth, clearly disgusted*
Randy: You’re a piece of work, you know that?
Me: Duh. So why do you care if someone you know sees you?
Randy: I dunno, it just seems gay.
Me: You’re a retard. What are you talking about?
Randy: Getting a public massage. Seriously, how can I relax with all that foot traffic passing by?
Me: You’re face down with your head in that toilet seat contraption. You can’t even SEE who’s walking by, dude.
Randy: I don’t care. Everytime my wife and I vacation at some resort she wants us to go get massages. You gotta be careful, sometimes there are only men to massage you, and I’m not having that. Jen, that’s not my idea of relaxing. No hairy man is going to rub on me.
Jim: Well, didn’t you tell me about a massage you got years ago when you were in the military?
Randy: *flustered* Well, yeah…I mean, NO. I mean, I can’t tell that story!
Me: Dude. That’s called a massage with a happy ending.
Randy: Please get the hell out of my office. Both of you.