Can I be petty?  I'mma be petty real quick.  #FreakoidCampaign

Look atcha.  Searching for the unpretty amongst the non-baby; wondering how much higher?  Not much.  Does thou' project too much while having a good time.  Uniform draped with money-making principles drawn up & elevated within your job vernacular; juxtaposed amongst ideals long fucked-off upon.  Come on dawg.  Come on.  You're mad for other reasons...why you gotta' get ridiculous.  Just for the fuck of it?  Have be it.  Exist with what you've left yourself.  You wasn't perfect, but how the fuck else you expect to be viewed when parading around the preposterous.  Pish.  Posh.

Quite frankly, I aim for delicate garnishes upon splatters of frustrated & artistic fuckeree.  I'm like a rhythmic soupe du fuckin' day: reduced for purpose & twice recycled for good measure.  That mad flavor doe'...nom.  A generous portion of my shit is tongue-in-cheek shock value mixed with humor so that I may so intricately interweave ideas of "I" into, you.  Because otherwise, everything in life outside of quantum physics, math and sex fetishes requires, tops, a paragraph of explanation & a few links to facts.  And may I ask?  Yeah you may mu'fucka!  Where's the amusement in that?  Seems like that needed to be explained.  Cool.  Don't try to diet-down these thoughts smothered in butta'.  The sear is immaculate & it's drenched in sauce.  An oxymoron of crispy smoothness.  Go ahead.  Bite ya' knuckle.

People that ask for Mountain Dew in any establishment outside of that one gas station you drive past knowing you're on empty, but don't want to risk getting out of the fucking car in such a shit-stink area, are the scum of my industry existence.  Public enemy number one; automatically catapulting you past Judist industry-name droppers, and lizard people.  I'd dare even say that I'd rather be blindly stiffed than to deal with your shit.  Look atcha.

You know who you fucking are, you disgusting sons of bitches.  No.  No, I'm not apologizing ahead of time on this one and I'm not asking you to hear me out.  I'm right.  Trust me.  Mountain Dew drinkers can have their tooth-rot smelling sisters suck them off, inevitably resulting in a laceration from a jagged meth tooth upon your throbbing shame.  And as your eyes roll back into your head, while you lay there weighing out what would be a more dignified way to go: simply bleeding out, or performing some trailer park war-time shit by applying pressure with the nearest & least shit-stained tighty-whities in reach, slowing the bleeding long enough to eventually die of diabetic gangrene of the dick...I hope that every time you ever acted all incredulous over me not having Mountain Dew plays on loop in the back of your skull.

...deep...breath...

...ping...ping...ping...

...along that piano...

...n' toast to your everythan'...

...before your endeavours endanger me...

There's a little something we take away from the smallest and most nonchalant of interactions.  I've found that when people ask me for Mountain Dew in a restaurant, they tend to a big ball of suck.  They'll act so incredulous when you inevitably say no - I say inevitably because, fuck me, it's Mountain Dew.  Not to be a dick, or to sound like some sort of soda elitist, but it's a soda named after redneck Appalachian moonshine, marketed toward whites that didn't give up a skateboard past the legal driving age.  And, diabetic nerds.  What legitimate restaurant is going to carry that.  Come on, don't make me out to be the bad guy here, cousin-fucker.

Incredulous is the word though.  You don't get that kind of huff and puff reaction from anyone else when you deny them their bubbly shit-syrup drink.  Yeah, sure.  Guests will be mildly disappointed when you have Pepsi products and not Coca Cola.  I mean, I get it.  We all have our preferences.  And rum & Pepsi just doesn't have that same name appeal, let alone taste.  But Mountain Dew day-dreamers act like you just called their big-headed baby ugly after shooting down what they apparently came in for.  Jeeze.  There's no recovery either.  At this point, it's a constant cycle of a J.F.K. assassination upon your service.  Talking Zapruder film right now.  Back, and to the left.

They're pissed at whatever you bring them to drink. 

Back, and to the left. 

They'll most likely already have their heart set on that one dish from that one restaurant from that one state from that one year that they felt like eating today that isn't on your menu.  Well, you won't have it.

Back, and to the left. 

Is it really $18.00 for this pizza?

Back, and to the left.

So you don't even have Diet Mountain Dew?  Code Red?  Mountain Dew Spiked?  Mountain Dew Black Label?  Dewshine?  The white one?  Not even the white one?  Ugh...

...

Stupid Fox hat, Dickies with the wallet chain, retro DC shoe wearin' ass, Proactiv failin', ask me to box up your food and then not take it home, let ya mama pay after glaring at your girlfriend for ordering more than just the chicken ass mu'fucka.  Damn that baby's ugly.

Yes yes, ya'll, and I wont stop

Cuz' anyone that's ever liked me,

Loved me for being over the top

P.S.

Really hope you hated this. Thanks for the views.  Got more than a few coming soon.