The heat hung in the air like a blanket of after-sex musk. It was heavy, it was sticky, and it was uncomfortable. Marta sat on her sticky leather couch, hating her television. Sure, all she had to do was stand up, turn the TV off, and walk away. She couldn't though.

"God, I hate Jay London. Why do people like him? It's the same damn jokes." Just watching the man made her want to throw up all over herself. Then eat the vomit off of her shirt and throw up all over again. Then again, it wasn't like she was any better. This ass was on TV, and here Marta was, too lazy to get off her ass and change the damn channel. His jokes are full of puns. Not good puns. Shit puns. And Marta hated herself for watching it. "At least it'll be over soon, and then we can get back to the comics that actually have a chance at winning Last Comic Standing. Damn you Last Comic Standing for even putting that lazy ass comic who only writes puns back on TV. Damn you!

Wordcount: 187
Note to anyone reading this: Jay London sucks ass.