THK: “I’ll be having my breakfast on the terrace today, Conchita. Make sure there’s no pulp in the orange juice this time, you hear?”
Conchita:
THK: “Conchita…?”
Conchita: “Here’s an idea: why don’ you try esqueezing your own damn orange juice, you bossy, evil bar of soap?”
At least maybe she wouldn’t have such a filthy mouth. Maybe even more scum, though, the billionairess soap-suds trailer trash ho.
Oops, she’s African. I forgot. Can’t say that, can I?