I experiment with dialogue

Recently I have been watching the HBO series Deadwood, which I like, and which, as any actor who did a commentary track for the DVDs will tell you, features the unique writing of creator/executive producer David Milch.
"This is such a typical bit of Milch writing," they might say, or
"I love this monologue coming up, it's so quintessentially Milchian," or even,
"Ha! 'Fucked up flatter than hammered shit!' Only David Milch could have written such a line."

Of course, David Milch is not alone as a writer of unique dialogue. People are always talking pretentiously about the "heightened speech" of David Mamet, or Quentin Tarrantino, or even Aaron Sorkin. I thought (and you probably saw this coming) that by infusing my own attempt at "heightened speech" into the following anecdote it might become more interesting (without something added it's not really worth telling).

"Every year for Cara's birthday I buy a book or a DVD," I said to Courtney at a Chipotle restaurant nestled in the bosom of the Stony Point Fashion Park.
"This year I want to expand giftwise; I feel that there must be one amongst the myriad possible gifts I have left untried that might please our friend more than some favorite trade paperback of mine, which she could certainly purchase on her own any day of the fucking week."
"Truf." said Courtney.
So we departed the burrito restaurant in search of a gift.
"The summer fast approaches," said Courtney. "Let's find dear heart a moisturizing balm and a pumice stone, that she might make her feet more presentable. For sandals, like."
So we went to Bath and Bodyworks, where we were assaulted by an overly friendly sales girl.
"Oy, you customers!" she called, "Got some loverly perfumes over'ere! Discounted deeply they are!"
We thanked her politely and moved toward the foot products. She followed.
"How about some cocoa lip gloss? No sooner do I put it on, then my tongue of its own volition emerges from my mouth and licks the flavored vaseline from my lips, leaving me with no choice but to re-apply the product!"
"Verily, cunt, we have no need of yer flavored grease," replied the ever-assertive Courtney, and arm in arm she and I sang sea shanties all the way to Sharper Image, where I bought Cara an overpriced black pillow with some sort of beads in it. Courtney swore that Cara would like it, and, as far as I could tell, she did.