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"Hell, thanks Max, you just ruined another one," he announced, hurling his jacket to the floor in frustration.
"I didn't ruin anything! If I didn't know you any better, Eric, I'd say you had shit for brains."
"Don't start with me, Max," he glared at him. "I'm not in the mood."
Max folded his arms across his chest. "You know what your problem is?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"Every time you get a date, you think with your cock instead of your brain. That guy was an absolute loser, and from the angle I was at, I could tell that his cock was about the size of a..."
"Enough!" Eric came toward him, pointing. "At least he had a cock. At this point, any cock will do. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe..." he narrowed his eyes, "his cock was all I was interested in?"
"Not wise. You can get yourself into a lot of trouble that way."
"I don't want you coming along on anymore dates."
"That should be easy; you don't have very many dates for me to come along on. Wasn't this the first one since ... ah ... last June?"
Eric shot him the nastiest look he could muster.
"Looks that kill don't intimidate me, Eric. I'm already dead, remember?"
"It's a damn good thing you're dead..." he grunted, "because if you weren't, I'd kill you myself."
"Sticks and stones; you'll thank me later."
"Sure, when I'm alone in my bed masturbating," he muttered, throwing himself on the sofa.
"If you'd let me, I could take care of..."
"Don't even go there. Now, for Christ's sakes, go away and leave me in peace."
Max was sitting in his favourite spot on the ceilingfan, swinging his dumpy legs off the side of one of the blades. Eric could make out the faint outline of his plump little body. His ruddy cheeks were glowing, casting a reflection off the far wall. Clad in green pants and a paisley vest, he resembled a tiny leprechaun. All he needed was the little hat..