To the fat fuck that is single-handedly jacking up the average BMI in Portland: Did you really need to haul your massive man pouch to the counter and buy all the fucking Twix? Let me tell you, you do not need all the Twix. You need some diet soda or some other bullshit to get rid of the heft putting strain on your walker. Do you think you're some lithe fucker who can handle candy bars? Do you look in the goddamned mirror, you waste of fucking MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF SPACE? I really wanted one of those Twix. They're the new kind with dark chocolate, and they looked pretty tasty. But as I got to the front of the line with my bottle of juice I realized you'd grabbed them all with your massive hot-dog fingers to shove in your garbage-disposal mouth. Probably immediately after leaving the store, like some goddamned man-mountain crack addict. Next time leave at least one for those of us who don't have to buy three goddamned seats on a plane.—Anonymous
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