Loser

Joey and I are seriously immature.  We call each other losers all the time, and yesterday was no exception.

"You," I said smugly to Joey as we drove by an empty Christmas tree lot, "Are a loser."

Joey smirked at me.

"I am not."  He said, then paused.  "You are a loser.  Your maiden name is Laird and, frankly, Laird sounds a lot closer to 'loser' than Woestman does, and I'm a Woestman.  So that means that you're the loser."

I wilted and made a sort of pathetic/defeated squeaking sound.  "Nuts."

Joey grinned proudly to himself and kept driving.