Jesus Christ, would you look at all these fucking customers? I bet they’re going to try to sneak in breakfast at 10:55am like a bunch of dicks. Oh, great. Here we go. These orders just keep piling up. Veggie breakfast burrito? What kind of fucking asshole orders a veggie breakfast burrito at damn near eleven in the morning? This prick isn’t getting any salsa, that’s for damn sure.
Holy shit, really? Grilled cheese with pesto? I don’t even think we have any prepped. Tony, get a payout and run to Whole Foods for some pesto. Apparently, the Queen Of Fucking England is dining here today. Fuck! A Denver omelette? Assholes! Oh my fucking god, will this shift never end? I haven’t had a day off in two weeks, and if I don’t get a cigarette before noon, I am tearing someone’s fucking head off. Chicken penne, hold the chicken? Wait, what? You’re the server, explain to them the chicken is already prepped in the penne sauce. I guess I could do noodles and cheese? The nerve of these fucking people.
Yeah, so, like I was saying earlier, my son keeps fucking up at school—the little retard. He was caught smoking a couple of weeks ago and his mom thinks he’s hufing glue. Of course, she only talks to me to blame me for something. I guess I still love her— I don’t know. I’d get back together with her for my boy, but that’s probably not the...okay! Who left the fucking avocados in the walk-in freezer!? I can’t work with this shit—eighty-six avocados! Frozen fucking avocados. This place is insane. I should walk the fuck out of here right now. You’d all be so screwed. I’m the glue keeping this popsicle church together—that’s for damn sure. Seriously, these fucking customers are killing me. Why the fuck did we get a rush at eleven? God fucking hates me, that’s why. Just once, I wish one of the assholes would thank me for sweating in the fucking kitchen like a freak. But, no, they only thank their server and host. Idiots.
I tell you, these customers are going to be the fucking death of me. I honestly don’t know how you do it. I would smack the shit out of their pompous faces if they complained to me about a speck on a fork or lack of high chairs or some shit. Pancakes? I told you, we just ran out of syrup! Oh, that’s the piece of shit that wanted pancakes? Tell him we just ran out of batter—I don’t even fucking care if I get fired. He’s not getting any candy-ass honey and fruit. This ain’t France!
"Once he found out about us meeting at Chili’s," reports accountant, Linda Talon, 28. "He refused to tip the bartender, which made us look bad, then he proceeded to misquote Stewie from Family Guy all night. He also got wildly vulgar during a public phone call with his girlfriend. I wish I could tell him how I feel, but I just don’t know him that well. What if he freaks out?"
Inventory control specialist, Fred Wills, 42, had a similar tale. "He tells several street jokes that are in poor taste, even when implicitly asked not to— and he still manages to mess up the punchline. I’d tell him to get checked for Asperger’s Syndrome, but it’s like, whatever. He’s kind of a spaz. It could potentially bum him out."
We tried to contact Mr. Floughders for comment, but he was busy volunteering his time at a local charity or some shit. I don’t know. Who cares? What am I, his mom? I don’t even know if he has a mom. No one does. He sucks, that’s my point.
Forget about the monster under your bed— what this man does every day will give you the heebie-jeebies— he actually responds to his friends’ posts, without showing appreciation for them beforehand with the simple click of a button. Despicable! What a horrific piece of shit. I hope he drowns while getting stabbed. As quick and easy as it would be to have his brain tell his index finger to apply pressure downwards, this psychopath would rather use wasted time and energy to try to add to your original sentiment. Please, someone double stuff him with the branches of a rose bush. This dim-witted sadist would rather get his own opinion across, than let you know that you’re a valuable member of his newsfeed. Holy cow! I pray someone builds a catapult so big, that it can launch him into orbit, where all his organs will collapse upon themselves and he will suffocate— then freeze—in the violent vacuum of space. I mean, who could possibly fathom such an inhumane act? We crunched the numbers and only three historic figures have ever had the violent temperament (and lack of empathy) to do such a thing:
Unbelievable. It’s tough to stomach "people" like this who haunt the hallows of the internet, but they are everywhere. Don’t be a victim. If you or someone you know is being harassed online, report it immediately to the webmaster.
