just stop it, potstickers.

listen, lady: people understand how empty seats on the bus work. if they want to sit, they'll fucking sit. you don't have to keep patting the empty seat next to you to let them know that they can fucking sit. they're not blind.

i don't even know what you're supposed to be, vodka cranberry.

just because a costume exists in the universe does not mean you need to make it sexy. i get that you're probably not actually a slut, and this is the one time a year that you can show off your body or whatever, but "sexy spongebob" and "sexy sea turtle" aren't actually things. it's really weird.

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.

you're about to die, angel hair pasta.

i'm swatting away at my arm, as though i'm surrounded by mosquitoes, when i notice that it's your long ass fucking hair brushing up against me. your stranger hair just molested my arm. you'd better figure out how to get it off me in a hurry, or i'm going to put on some gloves and rip it out.

i'm embarrassed, carne asada burrito.

you make living in this city hard.

you're so lazy, macaroons.

life tip: when i write "let me know!" at the end of an e-mail, it generally means you should write me back and let me know. that's why i said "let me know."

you're an embarrassment, kool-aid.

did you go to elementary school for even 1 second? why don't you know the difference between your and you're? that's like, remedial life 101. i suggest you commit it to memory, like all the other third-graders in the universe.