Man: Hey lady, let’s get out of here.

Woman: Not happening mister.

Man: Let’s go back to mine, we’ll take our brews to go.

Woman: I’m on a call, I’m married to my job.

Man: Why are you married to your jo—?

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: HEY BABE, IS THIS GUY BOTHERING YOU?

Man: What the fuck? A job?

Woman: As a matter of fact, he’s bothering me quite a bit.

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: ALRIGHT BUDDY, HOW ABOUT YOU AND ME TAKE A WALK. HOW’S THAT SOUND?

Man: What the hell is a senior blimp specialist.

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX.

Man: Okay, I’m starting to put the pieces together here. You said you were ‘married to your job—’

Woman: Shut the hell up.

Man: —and here we are talking to a living breathing job. That’s clever.

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: SHUT THE HELL UP YOU JACKASS.

Man: That’s actually really clever the more I think about it.

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A GUN

Man: That’s actually very cleve—*bullet tears through abdomen, killing the man instantly*

SENIOR BLIMP SPECIALIST: That’ll show him.

Woman: *Hugs job* I love you Darwin.