When I asked for some space after your charged up to the small vinyl rack, you looked me dead in the eye and said no. The green of your tacky camo jacket matched the envy in your eyes as I was flipping through the myriad of 50¢ Barbra Streisand and Herb Alpert records at the Goodwill. The shitty records you would have pulled out will still be there, pal.

Your next retort of, “I didn’t know this whole section belonged to you,” reeked of the schoolyard bullying I’m sure you subjected your peers to during your peak years in middle school. Moving the three records I had pulled out so you could go through the records directly above my head while I was crouching was also a nice touch.

I hope you and your girlfriend hang the knockoff art print you bought in your bedroom and right when you’re climaxing durning your rather vanilla het-sex, you remember how shitty you were to an absolute stranger and your hereditary impotence kicks in. I’m sure you’re bummed Trump was evicted…