Hunter: That poor woman has the saddest tits. Damn depressing.
Brock: Right? Yeah, they’re like The Notebook sad!
Hunter: Tits are like “coming home from school and finding out that your old man ran over your cat” sad.
Brock: Mournful! She has mournful tits. They’re like two suicide notes stuffed in a glitter bra.
Hunter: Those things are like a little kid with progeria cracking all his ribs trying to catch a Nerf ball. Just sad. Damn it, she has gloomy tits!
Brock: It’s like she put a dollar’s worth of change into some old socks and taped them to her chest!
Hunter: I want to build two little caskets and give her tits a tasteful, dignified funeral.