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.

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