I don't appreciate your attitude towards my potato chip situation

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Ground fucking Zero.

Sir? Excuse me, sir. I don't know if you noticed, but my potato chips are soggy.

My potato chips are fucking soggy.

You know why they're soggy?

It may be the essence of life, but I want it to stay the FUCK away from my potato chips

Because you bumped into me while I was drinking my glass of water and forced several drops over the rim and into my basket which contains a ham and cheese sandwich (thankfully unharmed) and a handful of chips that were up until very recently decidedly NOT soggy.

But YOU had to get to throwing away your trash SO damn quickly that you forgot all regard for regular human decency and in the process-

What's that look for?

Crispy potato chips not unlike mine... that is, until you deflowered them.

You think I'm crazy? Look at the name of these chips: Crunchers. Why, praytell, are they called Crunchers? BECAUSE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE CRUNCHY. How can they be crunchy if they're motherfucking soggy?

You think I like wet potato chips? You think I dunk them in coffee like donuts or frolick through the sprinkler with a bag of Lay's in my hand? No, I don't, and I don't like assholes like you thinking they can do anything they want, even if that means ruining a guy's lunch by making his potato chips moist.

You laughing, jerk?

You think the word "moist" is funny? Here's something funny: why don't I shove this ice scraper down your face? Yeah, I accidentally brought my ice scraper in here, what's it to you? Obviously you could use it to scrape the ice off your cold, empty, black excuse for a heart. You just don't seem to understand what this has done to me.

Your soul.

What are you supposed to do? Oh, I don't know, maybe you could magically re-crisp my chips! Do you have some miraculous chip re-crisper up your ass for just such an occasion? Do you go from cafe-slash-bakery to cafe-slash-bakery just waiting to pounce on some poor sap just as he's lifting his glass, barreling into his unsuspecting shoulder and forcing a waterfall of cruel wetness upon his kettle chips, which may or may not be the only thing he lives for every day? There's nothing you can possibly do to repair the inescapable darkness you have rained upon my lunch hour. NOTHING. My chips are fucking SOGGY and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

Come back here, you prick!

Get in line, pal. By the way, the third guy from the right had the audacity to fuck with my quesadilla. (He added cheese. What kind of idiot would do that?) Be warned.

That doesn't mean you're off the hook! I want you to apologize. No, no, I want you to get down on your knees and kiss my feet for sparing your life today. You've been nothing but an insensitive, apathetic jerk this entire time. By making my potato chips soggy you have incurred a wrath once dormant deep within me I thought I would reserve only for somebody trying to harm a close friend or significant other. But because I don't have any of those yet, I'll have to settle for these chips. And the perfectly crafted, homestyle crispy crunch these chips once possessed was all I had in this godforsaken world.

I want you to become my servant, forever ruing the day you bumped into me in such a careless manner. I want you to repay me by catering to my every whim, including actually catering at any special occasions that may happen in the future. I want you to slave away under the hot sun, sweating all over your only sustenance: Potato chips.

Or I guess you could buy me another bag.

See Also

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