As I was passing a blackjack table in Pit 7, while repeating "Massage? Would anyone care for a massage?", I noticed a gentleman wearing a white T-shirt with the phrase on the back, in bold, black letters:
NO, I DON'T WANT A FUCKING MASSAGE!
Well, fuck you, too, Sunshine! Pardon me for doing my job, Asshole. I hope you never, ever win at any game in the future, and that your teeny-tiny little dick falls off from lack of use. I hope that you develop a horrid body odor that causes little old ladies to faint in your presence. I hope any friends you might have (which I doubt!) desert you in droves because of your putrescence, and that any woman you hit on laughs loudly in your face, incredulously. May you break out in nasty, oozing boils. And, for good measure, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.
Oh, and I didn't want to massage you anyway. After all, I do have standards to maintain. Which you obviously do not meet.
17 comments:
Christina, stop beating around the bush. Say what you REALLY think. :)
I was just thinking that. If she keeps holding her feelings in, she's gonna get an ulcer...
As for the jackass? Look at it this way: By tomorrow, you'll have forgotten all about him. He'll still have to live with himself...
I imagine, with an attitude like that, he doesn't get massaged by anyone. anywhere, anytime. Period.
What can I say? You pretty much said it all. I'll second that emotion.
Ed, are you SURE about that? It might get ugly...;)
Jay, no ulcers for ME! And Asshole is already smoking on the ash heap of my discarded memories.
Blondie, with an attitude like THAT, massage is probably not the only thing he DOESN'T get. ;)
Holly, it's always nice to have one's feelings validated by someone one respects so much. Thank you!
You are one funny MT! I'm with you. I hope he gets ball rot.
ROFL. I like your thoughts!
Roismhaire, thanks for stopping by...:)
Ball rot? I like the way you think!
I think I can return the compliment, btw...LOVING your blog!
Tally, thankyouverymuch! I'll be here all week, try the veal.
You should have tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he wanted a massage. Maybe his head would have exploded.
Wow. Wonder where did he get that shirt? Maybe he cofused a massage with the smut cards the mexicans try to hand you on the strip. =)
Zelda, that truly is brilliant! But I wouldn't want all the other nice people at the table (not to mention the dealer) to be spattered with brain matter.
Leslie, who knows? All I know is that he was an ASSHOLE.
I'm with Leslie... where did he find it? And WHY would he pay good money for it (assuming he did, and nothing in life is free)? Some people...
Heck, Buck...you can get anything put on a t-shirt nowadays. Anything you want.
Collateral damage. :-)
*lol* @ Zelda!
Perhaps the camel fleas could also migrate to his nether regions. Asshole.
OOOOH! Pubic lice would be good, too!
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