"This one's on me, asshole," chuckled a breath that smelled of clove.
He was mayor of our town in California—never got his hands dirty—sort of like my asshole brother Joseph.
"Look, asshole," Fitzgerald grunted.
"Wow. He is an asshole," Gerry said.
"We don't handle suicides, asshole," Fitzgerald snarled.
"Get lost, asshole," the man answered, not bothering to pause in his eating.
"Watch your language, asshole," Rita snarled, not missing a beat in her typing.
"You are such an asshole," she exclaimed, voice trembling.
"He's not an asshole," she said a little too loudly.