"Back for more are we?"

You've dragged your sorry arse back for round two. Anyone would think you're a glutton for punishment wanting to be around a gobby bitch like me.

You've been sent away with a task of cleaning my Converse and I'm waiting impatiently with my bare feet in your face. You're gawping like a twat as usual engrossed by the fear boner growing in your pants and I shout at you.

"WHERE ARE THEY DICKHEAD?...MY CONVERSE! WHERE ARE THEY?"

The bellowing sound of my voice slams you to full attention and you clumsily hand over my Converse.