"Are you in the right headspace to receive a dick that could possibly hurt you?"

Al’s slowly getting back in business… thanks for the, uh, anatomy lesson, dude.

“That’s better, right? Don’t say I never do anything for you, shithead.”

The logical thing to do with your dinner. Where… where do you two even get ideas like this. Don’t say “from YOU, ma”. I just wanted to practice painting blood.

He means he wants you to suck his dick.

Motherfucker hasn’t fed you in 12 hours— probably the road that was his adolescence is bricked with neglected goldfish— and right now, nothing looks better to your empty stomach than the steam coming off that rabbit’s jiggling innards.

You’ll earn your treat, for damn sure. But you also make a mental note to go back down south for dessert.

If this were one of my boot worship blogs I’d caption this something like “I just stomped in every oil slick I could find in the CVS parking lot, f*****." But PJ isn’t much of a thinks-ahead sort of sadist. The worst thing Al’s going to taste here is maybe a piece of leaf.