mooooo

It’s been one of those days where you’re so hungover, its all you can think about. And by that I mean, I’ve been dragging ass all fuckin day. I’ve had a difficult time maintaining anything that resembles a conversation I’ve been that hungover. My eyes are the sunken in, “looks like he drank a 30 pack” look to em, while I wreak of death. My legs are sore from drinking. I have the shakes. (Note to self: I may be an alcoholic) But somehow I made it to the bank, while badly needing a nap, before noon today. The poor teller who had to help me set up a savings account (im such a stud)..shes this little old lady (and that means 55ish) who’s far too happy to get someone to set up a savings account (THERES NO COMMISSION! QUIT BEING NICE TO ME BITCH!) I stroll in with 10 minutes left before they close to set up this saving account, and begin to fidget and look around (think poster boy for ADD) as if I’m about to rob the place. The poor lady begins to go into detail about how there washing the carpets after I leave, to which I mumble
Me: oh that’s what all these Mexicans are doing
Teller: yep, that’s what these nice men are working on
Me: groan
As I sit and day dream about holding the bank up and begin my search for a worthwhile Bonnie to my Clyde (its all 50+ women, nope *sigh*) I decide to pay attention to what the teller is saying. Blah blah bank blah, I look down and close my eyes. Must have been minutes that passed cause she had stopped talking when I finally looked back up and the poor lady was too scared to ask me to sign the paper work. She was sitting there for what had to have been fuckin minutes while I rested my eyes. Lady, don’t creepily stare at me tell me to sign the damn papers! I don’t have ESP! (that you know of) Got out of there without taking any fire from the security guard as I grabbed the loot/ no stares from the Mexicans as I walked out with my new check book I decided I’d go to Jimmy Johns. No I’m not gonna describe how awesome my sandwich was, and Im not going to bore you with the details of me eating a footlong (No homo) but as I walk in I notice 3 full blown heffers (fatties) walking towards me. And by walk, I mean they were rolling, and using what would resemble their legs (if they still had or could see them) to stabilize the rolling. This little shit is taking off in front of them, full bore. I mean the kid is sprinting, he’s “got running from the cops speed” (thank you, Gus Johnson) and these heffers begin to yell at him to stop. I wanted to interrupt and be like “if you fat fucks ran once in a while you could see your feet! Don’t yell at your offspring, he’s lucky he’s not selling advertising on the blimp that is his stomach! You better encourage him to run, hell even if he runs into traffic, the fucker is still burning calories. That’s more than these three heffers following him could say, weezing and grazing as they mooed their way to the car. Christ, I bet the shocks on that car are crying for help. Ugh, fooooooddddd

“this girl was fat. I hit her with my car. She asked me, “why didn’t you go around me?” I told her, “I didn’t have enough gas.” I mean fat. She was standing alone. A cop told her to break it up. She stepped on a scale, a card came out. It said One at a time.”- Rodney Dangerfield, It’s not easy bein’ me