Dear lady who isn’t watching her kid- Please come over here and get your little boy because he is just digging through my grocery cart, and I’m preeeeetty sure he aint old enough to drink that Jim Bean.

Dear creepy teenager guy who has patchy facial hair- It is awesome that you like pizza, shit yeah guy, I love pizza too. But seriously you have been standing in front of the Ginos East personals for about 8 minutes now, and what the shit? Are you deciding like, right now if you like sausage or not? You fuck, you know if you like sausage or not, get the fuck out of my fuckin way you fuckin guy.

Dear eastern bloc lady- I love the clothing options you’ve picked here, the thick creme colored stockings, the house dress/shawl combo, and the moldy slippers that look like they’re older than mans love for bosoms. But my issue with you comes with your cart placement. I don’t know how they do it in russiachekobanastan, but here in the americas we FUCKING KEEP OUR CARTS PARALLEL TO THE SHELVES, NOT FUCKING PERPENDICULAR. Shit.

Dear down on her luck lady at the checkout- Ok, you paid by check, great. Do you really need to tell your entire lifes story worth of terrible happenings to the checkout lady? There was only you in line when I got here, yet I’ve been standing here listening to you go on about your dead cat, and how last thanksgiving you found out your son was adopted and borka borka borka. Seriously, go fucking talk to a bird in a park or something, quit talking to the person who I need to check me out, so I can get on with my life.

TTFN
-Kid C

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