Tasteless and insensitive in less than a hundred words.

A friend of mine has prostate cancer and he's being so weird about it. "I'd rather die than be incontinent," he says. "I'd kill myself before I'd wear diapers." Me, I'm a little different. I like it here. I don't care what I look like. I don't care if poo slides out of me uncontrollably while I'm at chic dinner parties or even just walking down the street. Irate homeowners will scamper out of their houses: "Excuse me," they'll snap, pointing at the sidewalk, "but you forgot to pick up after your dog." "Dog?" I'd reply. "Hell, that's mine. I'm just heading off to find a bigger plastic bag."