“You’re a pigfuck and a barfwhore,” Smurfblatt the Fleminicki ambassador said, beer pitcher gripped firmly in his hand. His right foot pushed against the office desk, allowing him to balance somewhat precariously in his chair.
Morglethorp let out a great boisterous laugh. He sat on the other side of Smurfblatt’s desk. The two had rather similar features: bluish green scales, pig ears, and frog lips.
“Your sire is so ugly he tried fucking a cactus!” Moglethorp yelled back.
“Tried?” Smurfblatt asked, eyebrow arching. He tipped his head back and let the beer slide into his throat. He drained half the thing in one go.
“The cactus told him no!” At that Moglethorp laughed some more, finally to be joined by Smurfblatt. Truth be told it was hard to tell whether they were laughing because they actually found the joke funny, or simply because their blood alcohol content was literally 100%. No matter — they were having a good time, at least.
“Looks like your face got fucked by a cactus!” Smurfblatt finally spat back. It probably wouldn’t have been a witty line in any context, but it was made even less impressive by the ten or twelve seconds it took him to come up with it.
“Maybe it did!” Moglethorp roared. “At least the cactus didn’t tell me no!”
He let out one of those hoarse laughs — laughter weakened by the man attempting to catch his breath. He slammed the palm of his hand against the desk several times, hard. It would’ve been enough to break any norm, but this desk wasn’t normal: it was re-enforced to handle Fleminicki strength.
“God this job would be boring without shitty jokes,” Smurfblatt said.
“Who wants to visit Earth?” Moglethorp asked, “when there are all those stars out there?”