Just kidding. To each his own, just as long as you don’t think you own me, as I always say.

Thank you for not provoking my uncontrollable lust.

I think.

And, uh, I can’t see myself wanting to mess with any cojones belonging to any person, woman or man. Now, my adage “Real men love bitches best,” refers, not to crabby or unreasonable women, but to tough-minded, self-reliant, hard-working, agressive women. These qualities are the basis of the sexuality I admire most. Though I suppose some skinny little pliable altruistic
honeybun wouldn’t be all that unacceptable.

But back to the comic! Will Mo be changed? Will he emerge like a butterfly, transformed? Will he learn ANYTHING?

Well I assumed it implied rather that the driver was one hell of a tough dude hombre with giant scary cojones that you don’t wanna mess with or he’ll kick the living crap out of you on account of he has these huge giant testicles, you see. I was totally impressed.

OPHELIA! — I am shocked and saddened. All these years I thought that shiny woman’s profile was a promotion for ballet, gymnastics, or fitness exercises.
You do have to admit she was better looking than that thang you saw there with the tater sacks or whatever. It implied, I presume, that the whole truck was a big . . . uh . . . substitute.
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As aptly named Poor Richard says, “Watch out for the a–h—.” (There’s one at each end of the truck.)