what in the eff is wrong with you, buttered popcorn?

see this room we are in? it's a movie theater. see the 300 empty seats? it's a wednesday; there are only four people in here, including you and me. was it necessary to sit right next to me? i can hear you breathing. i hope you kick your soda over.

you're a slimeball, fried okra.

that customer you're flirting with couldn't be less interested in you if she stood up, spit in your face, punched you, and then laughed. so speed it along and take her order already, i have places to be and i'm next.

do you know what time it is, potato knish?

having you as an upstairs neighbor is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to my REM cycle. your clomping around and moving furniture and bowling and whatever else the fuck you are doing up there is making me want to set your apartment on fire. just know that.

why why why why, pretzels?

there aren't too many perks to flying southwest airlines. so when i get on the plane and get a window seat and there doesn't seem to be too many other people boarding, what on earth would make you think that sitting DIRECTLY NEXT TO ME is the proper use of space? don't you know the rules? i sit by the window, you sit by the aisle, and we leave the middle open! the middle seat stays open until the last minute!

ouch, wasabi peas.

i see right through you, you slut. i'm not fooled by your cutesy facebook status updates ("in a perfect world we'd all get what we want all the time. then we'd complain about it, LOL :)"). your smiley emoticons do nothing to hide your true, asshole self.

i can't believe how rude you are, buttered roll.

in order to get by me, you had two options: politely say excuse me, or shove past like a fat little bulldozer. clearly you chose the more annoying of the two options, or i wouldn't be writing this.

i'm about to punch your lights out, halloween candy.

look, doucheface, we're all annoyed that this line is 10 miles long. and i get that your children are annoying. but being a loud ass bitch and pretending to offer your kids to everyone who passes by isn't actually that funny. it's lame. and in 10 years, they're going to need therapy, so suck on that.

don't even go there, camembert.

you're basically 300 years old. never should the words "twitter effect" pass through your lips. it's weird.

i can't stand you, spinach artichoke dip.

you're rude. and you're whiney. and all i want to do is beat you up. this relationship isn't healthy for either of us.

just no, bbq potato chips.

this is the meat counter at safeway. this isn't a fucking one-on-one session with a personal chef. why would the guy behind the counter know anything about anything other than meat? if you want gourmet, go to whole foods.

what's taking you so long, cheez-it?

simple math exercise of the day: the longer it takes you to bring my bill, the lower your tip is going to be.

we're all in this together, cheetos.

do you think this bus is your own personal space? judging by how you're yelling all your personal fucking business into that cell phone, you do. as if there weren't 300 people around you. great, now i know what your boyfriend is doing and where you're going and how much it costs. shut the fuck up.

heads up, corn nuts.

look, if you're walking behind me and i shift direction 1 millimeter, and that makes you run into my back? it means you're walking too close to me. back the fuck up.

i can't stand looking at you, cool ranch doritos.

watching you chew gum or a muffin or cud or whatever the fuck is in your mouth, is like watching a lion at the zoo, masticate a piece of raw meat. like, why is your mouth wide open? your gaping maw at 8 a.m. while waiting for a train is making want to vomit.

get off my jock, bagel bites.

can you see me? well it doesn't fucking seem like it, because you're literally standing on my toe.

why are you here, chicken quesadilla?

free tip: if we are in a crowded store and i look like i need to get by you, it's because i do. i gave you a hint when i said "excuse me." that's why i said "excuse me." that's what "excuse me" means. step aside, you fuck.

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.

sit down already, garlic fries.

do you see that we are sitting on bleachers? do you see that there is something happening in the field in front of us? that's because we're at a baseball game, not a fucking county fair. stop getting up every minute to get something else to eat. and where did you find that funnel cake, anyway?

quit your bragging, low moisture part-skim mozzarella string cheese.

yeah, i see you running up an down the mountains of noe valley in your shiny shorts and sweat-free brow. your self-exalting expression taunts me as i commute to the biggest reason i haven't seen the inside of a gym in weeks. i hope you trip on your perfectly tied laces, uta wanna be.

thank you to one of our readers for this great submission!

you're so stupid, top ramen.

this is not the first time you've taken public transportation. i know that because i'm on the bus with you daily. so why don't you understand that when the bus starts moving, and you're standing there not holding onto anything, you're going to fall over? you fall over onto people every single day. hold on to the fucking rails. that's why they're there.