Fuck outta here with that shit. We're at this bougie-ass restaurant, trying to have a nice convo, and this bitch keeps nitpicking every goddamn sentence. 'Actually, it's whom you're speaking to, not who.' I'm like, yo, do I look like I give a fuck about the Oxford comma? She even corrected me mid-sentence when I said 'Me and her went to the store' — 'It's she and I*, darling.' Bitch, I'm tryna eat my $40 risotto in peace, not get a fucking grammar lesson. Needless to say, there won't be a second date. My dick doesn't speak in past participle.