(no subject)
I was at Borders last week, minding my own business...perusing some periodicals...generally having a good day.
Until a guy standing next to me holding some celebrity gossip magazine decided that I really wanted to know what the fuck he was thinking.
Most people know of my deep loathing for celebrities and everyone who talks nonstop about them and my deep loathing for strangers who talk to me.
He turns to me, a smelly, unkempt man, and points to a picture of Britney Spears at her birthday party.
"She doesn't look like she's having very much fun, does she?" he says to me.
"No." I reply, as I feel a bubbling hatred for the man begin to form in the dark recesses of my soul.
"Just look at her face!" he says, obviously missing the sound of my teeth grinding together as I reply with a short "Yep."
"She looks as drunk as a skunk!"
I felt the burning fires of hate rush up from my soul and into my foot as it swung out and connected with the dirty man's scrotum.
He crouched on the ground, crying out in pain.
"No one!" I yell, "NO ONE rhymes about celebrities in my presence!"
"But..." the man started.
"NO BUT'S!" I yell.
"Drunk as a..." he began, having picked up the magazine and pointing at the picture as if to justify his words, but it was too late.
My hatred for the filthy man grew white-hot and uncontrollable as I grabbed the nearest magazine rack and shoved it into his rectum.
As he lay there, clutching at his ruined colon, I felt the burning rage subside.
And all was well again.
Until a guy standing next to me holding some celebrity gossip magazine decided that I really wanted to know what the fuck he was thinking.
Most people know of my deep loathing for celebrities and everyone who talks nonstop about them and my deep loathing for strangers who talk to me.
He turns to me, a smelly, unkempt man, and points to a picture of Britney Spears at her birthday party.
"She doesn't look like she's having very much fun, does she?" he says to me.
"No." I reply, as I feel a bubbling hatred for the man begin to form in the dark recesses of my soul.
"Just look at her face!" he says, obviously missing the sound of my teeth grinding together as I reply with a short "Yep."
"She looks as drunk as a skunk!"
I felt the burning fires of hate rush up from my soul and into my foot as it swung out and connected with the dirty man's scrotum.
He crouched on the ground, crying out in pain.
"No one!" I yell, "NO ONE rhymes about celebrities in my presence!"
"But..." the man started.
"NO BUT'S!" I yell.
"Drunk as a..." he began, having picked up the magazine and pointing at the picture as if to justify his words, but it was too late.
My hatred for the filthy man grew white-hot and uncontrollable as I grabbed the nearest magazine rack and shoved it into his rectum.
As he lay there, clutching at his ruined colon, I felt the burning rage subside.
And all was well again.