wait your stupid turn, jelly doughnut.

i'm not digging through this sale rack for my fucking health; i'm digging through because everything is 50% off. can you wait one stupid minute for me to move over before you shove your scrawny self into where i'm standing? this sale rack is meant to be shared. move your skinny arms out of my way, before i take this hanger and smack you in the head with it.

stop complaining, honey nut cheerios.

being anonymous on the internet doesn't really give you the right to be a dick, yet here you are, being a dick. hope your computer crashes, dick.

you're so rude, biscuits and gravy.

you know why i ran into you right now? because you stopped short in the middle of the fucking sidewalk. next time pull over, ass face.

ew, don't touch me, kellogg's frosted flakes.

if i'm in your way, and you need to get by, a simple "excuse me, please" would suffice. you don't have to huff and puff your way around me like a passive aggressive big bad wolf. i'm not a fucking house made of sticks.

stop all-capping me, denver omelette.

every day you're berated for having the lousiest privacy controls of all time. then you finally copy someone else and get your shit together, and you yell at me every time i sign on about how great the new privacy controls are. i get it! they're great! fine! if i need to know how to use them, i'll look it up my fucking self.

ummm, homemade cinnamon rolls.

there is no possible way. in all of eternity. that it takes you that long to put your stuff in the car and pull out of that parking spot. you're so fucking slow, you're going backwards in time.

give me my money, waffles.

you've had 750 of my dollars for three months now, and you haven't delivered the furniture piece i ordered. so basically, you're a liar and a thief. that's exactly the right way to get repeat customers.

what planet are you from, banana bread?

look, i didn't hit your fucking car with my car door. that's why there's not a huge dent on the side of your car. but keying my car as retribution was a great idea. i'm driving a fucking zip car, do you think i care what happens to it? the only thing that suffered through this exchange is your 2-year-old, who witnessed the entire thing, and your karma. drink your kombucha and calm the eff down.

omg, you're so annoying, bearclaw.

i get that you work for whatever charity organization it is that you work for, and that's great, but harassing me every time i step outside my office about signing for whatever it is you want me to sign for, is annoying. and then making me feel bad about not signing is you being a dick. it's hard to care about an organization that sends dicks out to get people to care about it.

you are such a snob, almond croissant.

did i ask you where you bought that? no. do i care how much it cost you? definitely not. stop telling me these things. we're not even friends.

who cares, crispy bacon?

your facebook status messages are out of control. updating your status every 15 minutes with cryptic passive aggressive half poems about the universe and fate and light and dark doesn't make me want to ask "what's wrong?" it makes me want to kill you. get over yourself.

ewwwwwww, eggs benedict.

cover your fucking mouth when you sneeze! i don't want ebola or tuberculosis or whatever crazy disgusting virus you have that you insist on passing on to everyone within a 5-foot radius because you can't be bothered to put your hand in front of your face. do it again, and i'll squirt purell in your mouth.

it's not me, it's you, cheese blintz.

i heard your "joke" the first time, you don't have to keep repeating yourself. i didn't laugh because it wasn't funny. and no, it wasn't because i'm not savvy enough to understand. you're just an idiot.

and here's a tip: don't even bother repeating it when new people join us. they're not going to think it's funny, either. not ever.

ok fine, bagel with cream cheese and lox.

you win, bagel with cream cheese and lox. i never write to you. it's not because i don't care. it's because you literally live 20 minutes away from me. i could walk to your house faster than it would take a letter to get there. ok, so now i don't visit often enough, either? fine! i'm sorry!

get a hobby, raspberry danish.

ok ok fine. so your brother was in "breakfast at tiffany's." that was 300 years ago. stop talking about it.

dress your age, breakfast buffet.

holy mother of god, breakfast buffet. do you have mirrors in your house? do you know how to use a mirror? whoever told you that the outfit you're wearing at your age is a good idea was either blind or lied to your fucking face. your adult diapers are showing. fuck.

you're a mess, egg mcmuffin.

oh em gee, stop crying so much. i'm serious. there are bigger problems in the world, and all you're doing is making me hate your face off. so stop it.

what's with the tweed jacket, dunkin' donuts?

great, so you grew up on the east coast and went to an all-boys boarding school. fine, so you went to a small liberal arts college and go leaf peeping, whatever the fuck that is, every chance you get. so you wear wool scarves and collared shirts and row crew and trade stocks. you live in san francisco now. get over yourself, donuts.

hurry up, french toast.

oh my god, are we in slow motion? the light telling you you're allowed to cross the street has been blinking for like, two years, and you're still shuffling along so slowly, you're practically going backwards. go already. and stop waving your hand frantically at the cars waiting for you, telling them to stop for you like they don't see you. trust. they see you.

you're a ho, pop tart.

last time i checked, a gum wrapper does not a skirt make. go back to hot topic, return that thing, and use the money you get back to take a makeup class. preferably one that doesn't teach you to look like you just got cast as hooker #8 in "law and order." you could look like respectable hooker #7, instead, slutbag.