Listen up, and I'll let you in on something. While I sit there with a fake smile, forcing myself to laugh at all the stupid shit coming out of your mouth, I'm really wishing you would shut the fuck up so I can squeeze every last bit of cash out of your desperate ass. When I tell you, "I'll be right back. I'm going to the ladies' room," really I'm running straight back to the dressing room to clown your chump ass to all of my coworkers. So, my little weasel boy, come in any day and hit your daily ATM limit and max out your credit cards just to be entertained by my tits. Please wear that tacky suit, that cheap cologne, and definitely that cheap cigar you don't know how to smoke. And thank you for possessing all of the qualities that make you the wonderful cheese-dick that you are: gullible, desperate, lonely, weak, horny, and easily entertained. It is these weaknesses of yours that have made it possible for me to buy my Benz, travel, acquire an impressive investment portfolio, and put myself through college. Thank you (you bottom feeding maggot). See ya tonight. --Anonymous
The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.