Tagon, I'm sorry I hit you, but this really was the last straw.
First, you impulsively enlisted our doctor based on cup-size, then you saddled us with a reverend based on the fact that he was the only applicant, and then you... you.. hormonally selected this ogle-magnet for my armor.
Anyway, I'm sorry I hit you, but it wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for your poor implse control.
Can I say something here about irony, or pots and kettles perhaps?
Not unless you want me to hit you again.