They Taste Like Bitter Grapes
Randy burst through the door. “Mandy, do you only love me for my money?!”
Mandy looked up from her fashion magazine, startled. “What? No! Honey! I love you for your… well, for your eyes!”
Randy sank into his chair stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. “Oh, phew.”
Mandy gripped her eye-socket spoon.