Sunday, February 8, 2009


I just went to the door to pay the pizza man. I always inclue a handsome tip because hey, I was obviously too lazy to pull myself out of the ass groove in my couch to go and get the artery-clogging sexiness that you were so kind to ferry to my door, so here's a fiver, and you have a nice night, Sport.

I opened the door with a smile, and as we're exchanging food for money he goes, "Wow. You've got a huge apetite." And then he snickered.

Yeah. Thanks. I hope you enjoy never getting tipped at this address again, jerkwad.

Also, Mister I'm-middle-aged-and-passing-a-heaping-helping-of-judgement-to-help-your-greasy-food-go-down, let me remind you: You're middle aged and delivering pizza while wearing elasic-wasted sweat pants with a curious stain on the crotch. Additionally: I'm an angry stranger. I could have GUNS in here, for Christ's sake, people have been shot for less.

No comments:

Post a Comment