You think you're so cool for beating us at kickball, you washed up, beer bellied frat boys. Like winning a kickball game could make up for the time you were cut from your high school football team, or the laughs you got when you actually got a girl drunk enough to witness your tiny penis. It's kickball, asshole. People are out there to have a good time, drink beer, and meet people. Not take out pent-up inadequacy issues with random people who are having more fun than you. So, you can imagine my delight when you walked into my restaurant. I knew you wouldn't recognize me from the game because you were all too busy jacking each other off over how great you were. Well, I remember you and every other wanker that was on your team, and I tea bagged the shit out of your drinks. So did two other people on shift with me. And it felt goooood. I don't serve my pubic hair a lot, but if I see you or any of your fat friends in my restaurant again, I won't hesitate. Neither will my other teammates who work in restaurants all around the city.—Anonymous