Note: This is probably the first in a series of “dear smacktard” posts. Not in a row. Just, like, there’s so many I will make a category or something for them.

Dear Mark aka the stupid non bill paying, getting his ass sued fucktard who had my blackberry phone number before me,


It’s been a year. Come the fuck on.

Dear people who keep calling my fruit (blackberry) and leaving messages,

YOU HAVE NOT REACHED THAT PERSON. If you are calling for a guy and hear a woman’s voice…you have failed! If you get an outgoing message that says “I will never answer this phone. I will never call you back” and you STILL  leave a message…you have failed!

Dear shoppers at the Westlake HEB:

Don’t fucking stare at me like I’m a goddamn cockroach in your overpriced salad. Holy fucking shit, there’s a BLACK PERSON in Westlake! Yes, bitch, here I am. I’m getting my lunch. Oh horror of horrors. I don’t want to be there. But it’s the cheapest goddamn place to eat on the godforsaken stretch of fake highway (it has lights. It’s not a goddamn highway). I’m sorry that I didn’t pack my lunch this morning. So sorry you have to see me in your precious grocery store while I’m wearing a $10 woot shirt, jeans, and crocs. So very sorry my office has a “wear whatever the fuck you want” policy while you swelter in your three piece suit. At “my” HEB, shoppers are friendly. Shit, even the most ghetto-ass HEB shippers are friendly (hi, Oltorf!) Your HEB has buckets full of fail. I will, however, give props to the people who actually work there. Nicest bunch of folks ever. (hallo there, produce guy! thanks for taking the time to greet me while you were stocking strawberries! 🙂 )

But you Westlake shoppers? Feel free to fuck off and die.

I hate you all.


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