Comrade: I fucked up.
Me: What's wrong?
Comrade: I broke the sink.
I go into the bathroom. Everything is fine. The plunger came undone in such a way that I was able to immediately fix it.
Me: This isn't a broken sink. Did I ever tell you about the sink at my old apartment?
Comrade: No? Why would you?
Me: My fourth roommate broke the sink. Way back when I was still living with my first roommate. I was having a party, and he pulled it right out of the wall. It was one of those hanging sinks. But it wasn't his fault. My first roommate had been inviting strange men over and was having them fuck him against the sink for some reason. I don't know why. 'Oh yea, baby, run that water. Fill that sink with bits of shaving cream and severed mustache hair yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh yea. *squeaky noise* squeaky noise* Ooooooooooooh. Shppppppppppphhhhhhhhhhh.' "
Comrade: Are those ... sex noises?
Me: They were his sex noises, yea. It's why we didn't work out. I mean, I don't work out because I have this awesome bod, but --
Comrade closes the bathroom door in my face.