Intellectual conversation at its finest

[last night, in the last few seconds of the 2-3 minutes standing on Clint's front while he drunkenly jams the wrong keys into the wrong locks]

CLINT: Did your twat let you...?
ME: My what? My twat?
CLINT: Your twat girl.
ME: My wife?
CLINT: Yeah, she let you out of the house?
ME: Yeah, to come take care of your dumbass.
CLINT: Exactly!

[Clint finally unlocks door and kick-swings it open]

CLINT: Bitch!
ME: Who?
CLINT: Fuckin' bitch!
ME: Yes, you are.
CLINT: Yep! That's what I'm sayin', man! Fuuuck yoooou!

[Clint stumbles into house and falls on floor as the door swings closed]

ME: G'night, Clint.