So I went to Subway for lunch today. This Subway was in the less affluent portion of town, and I have to say, I would really like to know what that ten square miles was thinking.
I guess I don't understand the thought process that yields what I saw today. "I'm a Jerry Garcia look-alike, so I better marry the first fem-mullet sporting fatty that shuffles by me and pump out four dirty little ankle-biters." How does that become acceptable? I swear I saw a three-hundred pound meth addict, how is that even possible? That shit is diet pills mixed with boiled gasoline, you should be thin and bouncing off the wall not waddling around trying to see out of the sunken disasters you call eyes.
I guess I just don't understand how someone can let their entire life become a consolation prize. Thanks for playing "Your Life", we're gonna have to send you home, here is a lifetime subscription to "Give Up Monthly", try our home game.
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