Objective Poopface Criterion
Setting: A sofa, in a house.
(Lisa sits on sofa, reading a magazine, enter Andy, he is bubbly and playful)
Andy: How's it going, Poopface?
Lisa: (putting down magazine in disgust) Andy. Please don't call me that; it's mean.
A: I'm just joking.
L: It's hurtful and disrespectful and flippant.
A: I'm sorry, Lisa. How about if I say it in a less flippant manner?
A: (like a counselor) How is it going, Poopface?
L: Not funny.
A: Ahh, dear, it's just a pet name.
L: Then use it on the pets.
A: I tried; they hated it.
L: Your wife does too.
A: How about if I said it like this...
L: Just don't say it.
A: (prowls around a bit, then with over-the-top lust) How's it going, Poopface?
L: Yeah. I'm wet.
A: Hmmm... not working... romantic powers... failing... need to extend dramatic tension... (like a nearly-doomed hero's last ditch grunts to reach the button) How's... it... going............ Poopface?
L: Are you in seventh grade?
A: If I pass phy-ed!
L: Listen, Andy, I just don't appreciate it.
A: But, as a spouse, you are so awesomely terrifying to me, that I must demean you with some middle school sobriquet, just so I don't wet myself when you're near me.
L: Buy some diapers and live with my powers.
A: Ah, Lisa.... how about if I say it like this... (with a very silly or bizarre accent, you choose) How's it going, Poopface?
L: Just stop, okay?
A: (cuddles up next to her on the couch) Ohhh... you just don't love me anymore.
L: I love you, Andy; I always will. Just don't call me Poopface.
A: (snuggling her, he starts pushing into her with his head, getting between her and the magazine, which she drops to the floor, she gets an annoyed look on her face, he nuzzles her breasts, then her neck, kissing it a couple times, then he nuzzles against her face, little kisses wherever he goes, then, in the cutest little endearing voice he can muster he says) How's it going, Poopface? (their lips meet, a very passionate kiss ensues. Let it play. He leans her down into the couch more and straddles her, she lets out a moan, he jumps up very quickly, pulls a notebook and pen out from under the couch) Ha! Yes!
L: Huh... what are you doing?
A: I have established the baseline. The objective poopface criterion. (verbalizes as he writes) Kittenish nuzzling, cutesy voice, light kisses. (to her) That's what it takes to be able to call you poopface (rushes to nuzzle again, little voice) Isn't that great, Poopface.
L: Damn you.
A: (playing up the hurt) You know that's really disrespectful.
L: I was reacting to you, not to "poopface".
A: Nonetheless, the bar has been set. (indicating his notebook)
L: Forget this. (she leaves abruptly)
A: (lies down on couch, calling after her) Can we figure out the levels for... (flipping through notebook) ...Slutbunny?! How about Sugartits? (lights fading) Bitchy McBitchypoo? (to himself) That one's going to be a hard sell. (continues flipping through notebook)