“If you can’t hit this big ol’ fat ass, how do you ever hit the toilet at home?”
“If he sticks it where you need it stuck, you’ll be shitting on the toilet just fine—no more constipation, Comet,” Evan added calmly, referencing Mom’s earlier joke about his miss and how the dildo would shake something loose. The two exchanged mischievous glances, sharing a rare moment of alignment in their chaos. Evan’s awkward silence answered that question, and Eddie clapped his hands. Dancer seemed entirely at ease, even pleased, while Harley’s smug expression only grew as she adjusted her stance. Evan’s aim wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. There was a 32-ounce container labeled “Sex-Grease” to re-apply as needed by my sister’s feet. He threw his hands up, groaning, as the room exploded with laughter.
