don't take it personally, chicken cordon bleu.

your breath makes me want to vom. go pop a tic-tac and then come back and talk to me.

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, pork chops and apple sauce.

how in the actual fuck do you think you can fit onto this bus that already has 400 people in it? you're carrying a ginormous purse and pushing a STROLLER. you're taking up more room than those seven hipsters at the front of the bus. wait for the next one!

welcome to how the world works, sourdough jack.

if i text you, don't call me back. if i wanted to actually talk to your voice, i would've called you in the first place.

yuck gross, chicken noodle soup.

maybe it's time you learned how to cover your mouth when you cough and sneeze? you're only probably in your 50s. it's never too late to learn something as stupidly easy and obvious as that.

it's bad, fried chicken and doughnuts.

stop looking at me all creepy, you greaseball. trust, there's nothing under the 10 layers i'm wearing that you want or that wants you back.

oh my, big mac.

i see how you work, you evil temptress. just when i think i'm out of your grasp, you sneak back into my thoughts and recapture my heart. well, you win this time. but know that i'm onto you.