Who's Afraid of Marley Rose?
'Honey, I'm home!' Jake Puckerman whispered in a retiring fashion.
'Where the hell have you been, you worthless slob?!' his wife, Marley Rose, sneered at him in disgust. 'Off lying in your own filth, slowly transcending? Off fucking some random young blonde boobs to give her kicks? Nah, you wouldn't have the guts, you would have been drinking what little money you earn while I slave for you because that's the amounts of kicks I get cos you're so inadequate in the bedroom!'
'Well, I don't see-'
'Go get yourself some beer and drink till you die, you loser! That's as much use as they'll ever be for you, you don't say anything, just sit there like a pathetic little freak, and you have no place in the bedroom, kitchen or your own living room. Oh, and you better go spruce up for the guests or I'll rocket insulin up your arse so fast it'll make your head explode!'
'On the scotch again, delightful wife?' Jake retorted back, jokingly sniffing her breath.
'You keep me and alcohol to yourself, you dumbfounded prat, you! You keep your lazy, lusty , little pauper's grave limits to the other side of the table, you hear me?'
'Keep your little fun and games to yourself, or I put a cap on that scotch, you past-your-prime nutty whore. Calling me scum when your worthlessness exceeds all expectations!'
'Go ahead, take your pick, I'm a frump! Just write yourself a suicide note because now I'm shooting heroin up you, you, you demented Republican. You can't satisfy anyone or anything if you tried. Get what's left of your dinner jacket on, and maybe you won't look such a fool.'
'Fine, sip your scotch in peace, Mrs Fifty.'
The doorbell rang. 'Ryder, Katie, how are you? My husband couldn't be here to greet you, he's masturbating in the mirror, come on in.'