Marculations

Dear Belly-Scratch Guy,

Hi. My name is Marc. You might better remember me as “the guy in the striped shirt in front of you in line at Carl’s Jr. who had the horrified look on his face.”

Yeah, that was me.

I’d like to talk to you about that horrified look I had. That was a funny face I was making, huh? Yeah, I’m sure you thought so. I didn’t think so. See, that’s the face I make when I see someone lift their shirt up over their stomach, so they can give it a good scratch.

Look, man. I know that sometimes, you just gotta scratch your stomach. I’m with you. I get it. But listen. This isn’t your bathroom. We’re not at your house. I’m not your annoyed-yet-understanding lover. We’re in line at Carl’s Jr. And I’m about to eat my lunch.

I don’t want to see you dragging your fingernails over your hairy, sweaty stomach while I’m waiting in line for my fucking cheeseburger.

The next time your disgusting, bloated gut decides to poke out from under your filthy, stained polo shirt, and I’m anywhere in the vicinity, you should probably watch out. Because I may uncontrollably vomit all over you.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.

Sincerely,

Marc

Tags: Rants

This entry was posted on Saturday, February 18th, 2006 at 3:05 am and is filed under Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.