Word to Your Chiropractor
When you see me charging toward you and hear me speak clearly and perhaps somewhat loudly the words "EXCUSE ME," that is your cue to get the fuck out of my way.
There was a wall of people. Somebody was going to have to move to let me pass. I chose you. You didn’t budge.
You were standing between me and my friends/drink. I’d done my part. I’d alerted you to my presence and used the phrase our society accepts as meaning gain way, bitches. I step aside when someone needs to pass. You should have, too.
I hope I didn’t dislocate your turgid beer gut when I body checked you. You should get that looked at.
P.S. Parades? BORING.
Posted: April 13th, 2008 under boiling rage, open letters, social subluxation.
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