You may, but you should refer to it as your reyler-owned ass.

So are you my direct supervisor in the ownership of my ass, or is there a hierarchy between yourself and my ass. 

Actually there's a laser grid between myself and your ass.

Hmmm. To prevent my ass from escaping?

I suppose you could look at it like that, sure.

Ill think of it as a grid of smothered love

"Love-butter" just don't sound right.

It would probably not sell well on Adam and Eve

Oh, you never know, takes all kinds to fill the graveyard freeway.

Especially when it comes to funny business.

Since there's a fresh load of fluid repositories masquerading as sentient life that have been coming by of late, it bears repeating: All your butts are belong to me.

I was not aware that there was a thread concerning butts.

And now you know: your butt belongs to me.

Never!

Hush, you; you've known about this policy for years.

May I still shake it as I choose?

Only vertically; we're not zoned for the other direction.

Vertical don't work for me. I don't twerk

They're right next to the Cellos. In fact, upon finding them, one could also gesture dramatically and go "viola!". But that's just a bass assumption to string someone along. It'll all end in tears and violins.

I love this. It broke my heart and my head.

You have taken my freedom, but you cannot steal my pride.

I'd need to be convinced it exists, first.

Well, you can't steal my corn flakes at least. They're booby trapped.

Boobies?

Goddammit Lizzie stop buttering your depth charge when there's people around