Saturday, February 28, 2009

Douches @ Walmart

To the Douches @ Walmart:
First off let me start out by saying that I am a good person.  Had I met you under different circumstances, I'd be the one offering you my childrens gently used overflow just to see that you kids are clothed and warm.
However, now I see that you probably came from trash, and will continue that pattern all your days.  Too bad, really.
I haven't been out of the house in 3 days.  My kids and I have been sick.  I ventured out today to get nail polish remover so I could do a pedicure and spruce myself up a bit.  Who are you to ruin my day for no good reason.  Did you see something in me make you feel the need to be blatently rude?  When your dog ugly boyfriend was pushing your cart filled with cat food and litter through the parking space I was patiently waiting to pull in to, what made you think it'd be more beneficial to carry it along with your 5 other bags to your crap van 25 feet away and leave your cart square in the space, rather than just pushing it up to your van to unload it...?  Come on, you made a point of stopping the cart, looking directly at me and then motioning him to help with the bags and leave the cart there so I couldn't pull in without hitting it.  When I pulled part way in, got out of my vehicle, and moved it myself, the two of you were so mature to giggle about it.  I think you got the drift when I glared straight into your ugly faces and I must warn you that my family has roots in Witch Kraft.  If anyone haunts you on my behalf, you have it coming to you.
Since you've ruined my day anyway, I feel I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't mention that the jeans you are wearing may have fit you 3 illigitimate pergnancies ago, but they do not now.  I don't know if you're trying to spark a memory in the head of the first baby daddy, but I'm relatively sure the only thing that would take him back to that day in the janitors closet of your high school where he knocked you up is the button and zipper on your jeans, which is now tucked away under your gunt.  Additionally, I'd like to point out that purple hair and blue mascara has been out for decades now, in case you missed that memo.  You suck.
It's to bad I have to much tact* to tell you off to your face because even if you could afford the internet, you probably can't navigate it...and if you could, you'd be googling how to grow pot in your basement or the easiest way to scam the system.  Good luck trying to supplement your child support with the kitty mill to keep up your drug habit, cats are a dime a dozen.
All I can say is karma...
* skill and grace in dealing with others


AD said...


Jodi said...

I swear, going to that store is like pulling up a lawn chair to the Annual Parade of Those Who Shouldn't Breed. Or maybe the proof of the doctoral thesis: How the complexity of DNA results in 90% of the population consisting of idiots and assholes. Or a reality show called, "Those Distant Relatives You Only See Once a Year at the Family Reunion."

country mouse said...

Whenever I go to *that* store I have the idea firmly entrenched in my snobbish head that I really don't belong there--I am *so far* above the regular clientele.

And the reason I believe I'm so much classier is because I don't have purple hair, don't wear blue eyeshadow, and I wear pants that fit me.

Aaaaaand that's pretty much all it takes to feel superior. Oy. I am so terribly important ; )