I'm sorry, do I know you? Did you want to pay for my groceries? Are you trying to get a DNA sample? If the answer to any of the above questions is “no,” I have one thing to say to you:
Back. The. FUCK. Up.
Well, actually, I have a bit more to add.
If you’re close enough for me to smell what you ate for dinner last night, you are cramping my style and my body. You aren’t going to get to the register any damn faster. Calm down and stop hoovering the anti-oxidant trail mix; no one is going to cut in front of you at Trader Joe’s. I know your plane is boarding in an hour; so are the flights for the 10 people in front of us. Hold your fugly topsiders and your Ziploc bag and step back before I clock you and you miss your flight altogether.
Being the optimist (and a Monty Python fan), I like to look on the bright side of life. The upshot of your vertical spooning? You’re within my reach. I don’t have to move to push back…hard. Shove off and stop sharing my oxygen. Oh, and yes, my hair does smell terrific.
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6 comments:
F yeah! I f'ing despise space invaders, grrr
Amen Amen Amen! I love stepping on toes 'accidentally' oh oh and save that big nasty fart you didn't want to let off in the produce aisle!
"Vertical spooning"...LOL!
I love that you used the word "rad".
A post after my own heart! It always amazes me how many people are in a hurry going nowhere.
a. FUCKING. men.
I especially love the ones who have children whom they let shove their arm (at least) between you and the checkout structure at crotch level to throw down some toy or sugar-loaded treat they're spoiling the brat with as you're facing the cashier to pay. Rude, obnoxious bastids.
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