"It's about Gwyneth—" "Ha, great set of tits, huh?" "Yes—" "I told you." "Yeah, but listen, Dad. There's something you need to know about her, and I'd be...remiss in not telling you, so I need you to get ready for a shock." Dad laughed over the line. "Son, son, I'm grateful for your concern, but relax. I know what you're going to say." "No, Dad. You don't," Melvin guaranteed. "Let me take a shot, then. Gwyneth got bored up at the house so she drove out to the nearest bar, hooked up with a guy, and made some whoopie. Am I right?" Melvin gave that one some thought. Well, she injected heroin into her breast, had sex with over a dozen bikers, and right now she's got a prostitute's foot up her ass and she's eating shit. Does that go a bit beyond the definition of "making whoopie?" I'd say so. But before Melvin could actually respond, his father piped right back in: "I should have told you in advance, but Gwyneth and I have what's called an ‘open' marriage. It's only practical in this day and age, son.
