Dear shithead pervy inconsiderate tactless clamoring suburbanites invading my space in more ways than one:
I was standing in line at my favorite coffee shop, that I visit daily, when the two groups of you spotted each other from opposite sides of the shop and decided to meet each other halfway—which was, coincidentally, precisely where I was standing—and proceeded to surround me on all sides and yammer loudly about how you were doing and what you were up to. I was trapped in an auricular windtunnel of shit that I didn't care about. I tried to edge myself forward in line to get away from you, but the creepy old man of your group thought this would be a good opportunity to get close enough to cop a feel. My friend behind the counter working there saw this and let me move to the front of the line to get away from you. I was too meek in real life to confront you about it, so instead I have to sit here and hope that maybe he will die on Christmas. I hope you have a happy fucking holiday with your fucking creeper grandpa, you fucking fucks.
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