Quote:
Originally posted by sebastian_dangerfield
I want to know where they get the stuff. How far is it flown? Clearly, none of its made locally. I saw some creepy fucko from the Home Office assisting workers at the local Starbucks. He had crazy wide bulgy hyperthyroid eyes, his pants were up way too high and he spoke in a creepy Mister Rogers tone, as though he were an android or the sort of man who had nude boys tied in pretzels in the trunk of his Mercury. Wherever the Home Office people come from, they are the sort of people I don't want anywhere near my foodstuffs. I won't be having any of their fucking brownies any time soon.
And for God's sake, don't ask for my fucking name and yell it as though you know me when my fucking espresso is finished. You don't know me.
AND GET RID OF THAT TEN FOOT "ANTIGONE RISING" DISPLAY! That band clearly sucks an incredible amount of ass... more than MR. They look like some talent scout found five screwheads at Vassar or Bryn Mawr college, and the local coffee shops, handed them a song catalogue written by some mincing shitass emo chickenshit songwriter and packaged them up as the next Lilith Fair phenom. Fuck them, and get their fucking shitass cd off the sound system and out of my fucking face.
|
21. "A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti," "The Silence of the Lambs," 1991.
