Excerpt: Fireteam Spectre

John shrugged and wandered into the kitchen, only to scream a minute later, "What the fuck is this Zima bullshit! You got sand in your clit these days or what, pansy?"

Jackson sighed, "Buds in the garage, gotta hide it from Emily."

"Good man, keep those priorities straight." His voice vanished into the garage, the sound of bottles replacing the noise of the older man's voice and John reappears with two handfuls of beer bottles and a bottle opener clenched between his teeth. "Like the old days!" He mutters between gritted teeth.

Jackson decides to go for a low blow himself, "How's Wilma?"

"Fucked in the head, with nowhere to turn. Who fucking names their daughter Wilma anymore? It's like her hippy parents got too stoned watching the Flintstones."

Jackson laughed as he shook his head and grappled a bottle of beer from John. Smacking the metal cap against the wooden end of his coffee table, the cap breaks loose, "you're getting soft old man, a bottle opener for just a beer? What're you civilized now?"

"You watch your mouth you suicidal pussy."