Sometimes, in an attempt to alert my boyfriend to his overuse of swear words, I start using the same level of bad language back to him (to shock him out of his complacency, right?). This backfires on me about 50% of the time, as this conversation about the freshness of the bass he cooked on Saturday demonstrates (Mum and Dad, look away now):
BF (after much ranting about how good the fish is):
This motherf**ker was swimming around last week!
Me: He certainly is a fresh motherf**ker.
BF: He was the shinest motherf**ker at the Sainsbury's counter!
Me: The motherf**ker is good, alright.
BF: Have you ever eaten such a fresh motherf**ker?
Me: He is one tasty motherf**ker.
At this point I become aware that we seem to have strayed into Pulp Fiction territory.