This conversation actually happened at a place where I worked, involving myself, a female supervisor, and a coworker named Bill who makes very questionable decisions.
Supervisor: I think I should go on a diet and shed a few pounds before summer.
Bill: You don’t need to lose weight; you’re pleasantly plump.
(Several moments of painfully awkward silence.)
Supervisor: I’m what?
Bill: you’re pleasantly plump.
Supervisor: I’m plump am I? Plump is what I am? I’m plump?
Bill: no, you’re pleasantly plump.
Me: (whispering discretely in Bill’s direction) stop saying the word plump, dude.
Supervisor: so my plumpness is pleasant to you?
Bill: I like a girl with meat on her bones.
(Another long and horrifying awkward silence.)
Me: wow, I can’t believe you thought the word meat would be helpful.
Supervisor: so I’m plump and meaty. (turning to address me) Do I look pleasantly plump to you?
Me: (frightened): pleasant is certainly not a word I would employ at the moment.
Supervisor: (growling) but am I plump?
Bill: There’s nothing wrong with having some junk in your trunk.
(She literally became so angry she couldn’t speak.)
Me: you really need to stop all of the words that are coming out of your mouth, Bill.
Bill: (holding his hands wide apart) but I like women who have…
I can only guess at how Bill was going to finish that sentence; I am certain it would have resulted in his homicide.
The supervisor tortured Bill for weeks, screaming “watch out, there’s fat coming through,” every time she walked past him.
It was funny–for me.
The moral of this story: don’t be a dumbass.