Random Unrelated Image: Fuck You, Candy
You’re an asshole.
Yes you. The person who their dog around in a sweater in the middle of summer. Your Dalmatian. In the heat and humidy. Because your dog needs a fucking sweater when it’s eighty five degrees outside in the shade. Did your dog say ‘arf arf arf arf arf?” (loosely translated: I need a fucking sweater so I can eternally know what it feels like to overheat my balls into liquification). I doubt he did. Because he’s a fucking dog. And he has a coat already.
And you. You who had the dressing room tied up all day while trying on ten pairs of pants five sizes too small for you. Of course you’re a size 16 lady. Denim doesn’t stretch. You fit into those pants because you’re forcing all your ass fat upwards. If you ever succeed in getting into them you’ll look like a bulbous gastropodial ice cream cone. You fat fuck in denial.
And you. You who shows up to work four hours late. Why do you even show up? I know it’s not because you need money for car insurance. (That piece of junk can’t cost you more than $10 per month.)Haven’t you figured out that you get less of a reprimand if you just call in sick? And the smell on your breath. Eat a tic-tac. Or better yet, brush your greenish/yellow skank ass teeth.
And you who gets in front of me at the check-out line with your eighty five children, three hundred dollar Citizen watch, Phat Farm attire, faux Gucci purse and an attitude. Fuck you. Your WIC can’t be used until next week. And you can’t buy beer with it. And it’s all your fault. You have gold teeth and your four year old isn’t wearing any pants. I bet your thighs are lonely, because I’m sure they’ve never met. Allow me to shake your hand, you are the most worthless human being alive. Now allow me to wash my hands.