Do you remember when we had cholera together? We threw up a lot while we fought. The vomiting was bad, the worst bouts of ***** we ever had. I saw your sister yesterday. She still hasn't washed the puke out of her hair.

The snow fell like corn flakes spray-painted white last night after our knock-down/drag-out fight. I saw you in the exam room with your bruises and lacerations, smiling like a Mexican who just had a baby in Oklahoma. I could've killed you if I wanted to. It's not like Mexican women are rare and few. So now that you're not drunk anymore, we can resume our clingy relationship of **** and *****.