Jack Serpentine drove us home from The Oasis, the type of bar you'd expect to be the only thing open on Christmas night -- an ugly space with a tiled floor, a garage door substituted for part of its east wall.
We began to discuss Jack's high school classmate; Jack was vehemently opposed to intercourse with this woman, he began to list objects he'd rather have sex with. "A bag of flour," he began.
His idea snowballed until we were proposing sex with items blatantly less attractive than the woman herself. I tried to bring us back to reality.
"I think I would rather have sex with Woman X than with a bag of glass," I admitted.
"But what if her vagina was lined with razorblades?" Floyd asked.
"And cats' teeth?" Shawn chimed.
"And it spoke perfect Arabic?" Floyd added, before our laughter ended the discussion.
Jack pulled into the driveway and shut off his grandmother's Camry, and we retreated to our respective cars, another Christmas past, the reason for the season obvious.
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