Gettin’ ready for the big date with Melody!



I want a father/son bromance between these two almost as much as Soos does!

Slightly NSFW conversation to go with that last pic under the cut:



“Mr. Pines, I, um… I….. um…. I really, like, appreciate you giving me the talk and all dude, but, like… um… I gots one question”

“Oh-ho!? Well, I… *cough* uh… can’t exactly blame ya for wantin’ to tap into tha vast encyclopedia of dame-pleasing knowledge that’s up under this fez here. Whadda ya want to know?”

”So this ‘little man in the boat’ metaphor you keep using for the female’s c l i t o r i s?”

”Yeah, what about it?”

”Why is he, you know, a man?”

”This is yer question? You’re killin me here Soos! He’s a man, cuz’ yer gonna take yer tongue and whack him around his ugly bald head like he owes ya money, just like I taught ya! Beat the little bastard up real good! You wouldn’t want to do that to a lady, now would you?”

”But, fundamentally, Mr. Pines, I am doing this to a lady.”

”…”

”And… you know… it just seems weird that during a gesture of such delicate intimacy as c u n n i l i n g u s that my mental image is of performing an act of violence against another man-”

“-yer not going to go around saying all this sciency stuff when yer between Melody’s thighs, are ya?-”

“-I mean, shouldn’t I be basing my technique on paying attention to Melody’s actual enjoyment of the event, rather than playing an imaginary game of extortion on some unfortunate balding mariner? Not being present and connected to the pleasure of your partner just doesn’t sound like very good relationship advice dude. No offense dude! I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’. Seems kinda… kinda messed up there.”

”……………………………………………………………………..Soos"

“Yes Mr. Pines?”

“Yer fired.”

“I love you too, Mr. Pines. Thanks for the corsage.”

“EH, GET OUTTA MY SHOP YA SMARTASS BUTTERBALL CASSANOVA!!!

How this brilliant shit comes out of the mouth of an obese 24 year old virgin man-baby who lives in his granny’s basement, I’ll never know.

…I stuffed, like, 20 condoms in yer wallet. Bring me back some fuckin’ wedding cake. I deserve at least five pounds of frosting roses for this bullshit.”

“Oh, you got it Mr. Pines! ;) ”