A Legal Alien

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08 February 2005

First of all, let me say that you have an odour that most would consider foul. It's not just that you forgot to bathe for the last 9 days, but your coat seems to have been used by a feral cat for a litter box. I'm sure those pants were in style in 1983 but if you haven't noticed, it's 2005. And Buddy Holly glasses are about as chic as Gary Busey's career.

Secondly, you jumped the queue. Yes, there was a line and I was in it. There was no one else waiting behind me because that's where you should've been. Oh but look, there you are, ordering your venti soy latte with an extra shot. Trust me, the last thing you need is more soy in your diet. The man boobs are not a good look.

Lastly, while I stood there waiting for my frappachino and loaded my purchases into my bag, it was so kind of you to look me up and down and then laugh at me. That hasn't happened since the 8th grade, at least not to my face. So not only are you horribly ugly, a fashion police citation walking, but you're an asshole to boot.

Did I mention that I pitied you when I saw you sitting with a basic math book and a tutor to help you with long division? When you snickered at me again, spilling my coffee on you and your table was an accident. Really, it was.

And Starbucks gave me another one free. Spilling that one wasn't an accident.

For Paul Barrett

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