stop saying that, gyro sandwich.

just so you know, saying "my bad" doesn't automatically fix everything. in fact, it doesn't actually fix anything.

have some consideration, cannoli.

we're not at LAX, we're walking in the financial district of san francisco. schlepping a wheeled suitcase behind you that is so clearly your "briefcase" and not your luggage for a vacation is so stupid and annoying and making everyone trip and fall all over themselves. and the worst part is that your head is so far up your ass, you don't even notice. i'm going to wheel that thing all over your stupid face in a second.

ugh, udon.

are you 10 people wide? how come you sat next to me on the bus and now i'm smooshed up against the window? learn boundaries, you asshole. sitting on my thigh is definitely crossing a line.

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.