THE HEAT, OMG! AND, Thankfully enough for me, we ended up at the same Fred Myers to cash in our cans at the same time. One would think we are downright insane for attempting such a chore in this weather, but you and I don’t seem to fucking care about anything like that today. Well, at least I didn’t, until I looked over at you in a bobbing up and down dance, over and over again, THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME. At first I was like what the fuck is he doing? I figured the only real way to find out is to strike up conversation with leading questions to try and detect this shit. Leading detective questions that I am in charge of, that is, until your hand broke our stranger silence and dove into your shorts to wipe what appears to be ball sweat off your disgusting baby makers.
That wasn’t necessarily the problem though. The problem was when you took your hands out of your ugly shamwow shorts and placed your fingers under your nose and then slid in for the home run to taste them.
The look I gave you expresses with full gagging regret why I left the machine with 7 $dollars in it, and 8 cans left in the shopping cart. I’m sorry that your dude piston is as sticky and dry as a fruit roll-up left on the sidewalk in the sun for too long, but I'm out of here, you’re fucking disgusting.