Monday, February 28, 2011

lose the attitude, garlic bread.

stop honking at me, you bastard. i'm not a psychic, i can't predict that the light will turn green before it actually turns green. but i know what'll teach me: you speeding past me and then cutting me off. now i've learned. i hope you spill your coffee on your fucking lap, garlic bread.

Friday, February 25, 2011

whatever, 'dr' pepper.

exactly what are you a doctor of, mister pepper? if that is your real name. you fraud.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

i'm not your 'bro,' shamrock shake.

you lacrosse-playing, beer-drinking, sexual-harassing sonofabitch. fine. you were in "the best frat" on campus. that was 12 years ago. stop talking about it.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

you're in my personal space, pink popcorn.

hi, can you move? i'm trying to get to adventureland and you're stopping every minute to tie a shoelace or take a picture of nothing. put down the turkey leg, wipe the cotton candy off your face, and figure it out.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

are you for real, twinkie?

you are so full of shit, twinkie. if you could pry yourself away from "chatting" with "ladies" online, maybe you could pay me back the $100 you owe me. and it wouldn't hurt for you to step outside and see the sun for a second. lord knows you could use the exercise.

Friday, February 18, 2011

get out of my face, red velvet cupcake.

sitting next to you on muni on the way to work ruins my entire day. did you know you're a mouth breather? well, you are.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

vaffanculo, spaghetti and meatballs.

saying "ciao" and "bella" and being able to count to 5 in italian does not actually make you an italian. i don't care that your great-great-stepgrandma went to sicily once. you have no right to wear those too-tight jeans and put that much shit in your hair. arrivaderci.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

go to hell, reese's peanut butter cups.

you're so stupid, you taped a piece of paper up to the tv, and when people asked what it was, you told them "it's paperview." idiot.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

i'm over you, yoohoo.

if you want me to come over there and talk to you, you're definitely going to have to learn some manners. and don't "yoohoo" me, yoohoo. waving your little fingers at me like an old lady in a bugs bunny cartoon. it's not cute.

Monday, February 14, 2011

loosen up, corn dog.

what kind of responsibilities do you have that warrant you being such a prick? take that stick out of your ass, and live a little, corn dog.

Friday, February 11, 2011

what an asshole, chick-fil-a value meal.

you ride around in your pickup, chewing tobacco, honking at girls, and slamming gay kids into lockers. bullies grow up to be unemployed, generic-beer-drinking losers. why do you hate gay people? are you chicken? at least you're in the right business, cocks.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

you disgust me, chocolate chip cookie.

really? you think a rayon shirt and overalls is appropriate work attire? are you happy that your hair looks like david silver's? 1992 called, chocolate chip cookie. it wants its everything back.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

you're a ho, pop tart.

last time i checked, a gum wrapper does not a skirt make. go back to hot topic, return that thing, and use the money you get back to take a makeup class. preferably one that doesn't teach you to look like you just got cast as hooker #8 in "law and order." you could look like respectable hooker #7, instead, slutbag.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

you're a wiener, bratwurst.

there's not much for me to say about you, because you're not even worth it. but everything that you are is basically right in your name. oh right, you probably can't read.

get over yourself, crunchwrap supreme.

your head is so far up your ass, crunchwrap supreme, that you look like a fucked up origami project. and not of the paper swan variety. go blow yourself -- by the looks of it, you've already tried.

Monday, February 7, 2011

you're a life ruiner, cake.

you're like, that guy at the oscar party who won't stop the stupid commentary about everything, and everyone keeps hoping that if they ignore you, you'll stop, but you just never, ever stop. ever. i get it. you know how to use google. now shut the fuck up and pass me the veggie platter.

you suck, milkshake.

i don't care how many songs are written about you or how many boys you bring to the yard (whatever that means, slut). you have a superiority complex, and i really think it's something you should work on, jerk face.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

i hate your face, mcdonald's fries.

you're such a lazy asshole, no wonder nobody admits to being friends with you. being lazy is one thing, and being an asshole is another, but being both is just excessive. stop calling me.

Friday, February 4, 2011

stop shouting, raisinets.

nobody wants to listen to you yapping all the time. maybe if you shut your facehole for a minute, people would be able to enjoy whatever it is they're doing in peace. you're a turd.

you and what army, general tso's chicken?

weakling. i'm going to call you private tso's chicken, because there is no way in hell they'd ever make you a general. now drop and give me 20, loser.

up yours, fried chicken.

southern gentleman my ass. you wouldn't know polite if it jumped up and took a bite out of one of your skinny legs. and stop talking about breasts. it's rude.

i hate you, ice cream.

you're a dick.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

you're pathetic, onion dip.

sorry to break it to you, dip, but you smell. a lot. you think people invite you to parties because they like you, but really it's because they feel sorry for you. that's why it's always last minute. and that's why you're always exiled to the corner.

you're a pedophile, mac and cheese.

you should be arrested for luring children with your cheesy one-liners. feeding kids empty promises, and always trying to make them "smile." gross, mac and cheese. i'm onto you.

you call yourself a christian, grilled cheese sandwich?

you think an image of jesus on your backside makes you holier than thou? the only image i see is of a poser, you big liar.

whatever, pancakes.

you're such a phony, pancake, if that's your real name. if you were a real cake, you'd have frosting.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

you're basically a squatter, ike's sandwich.

maybe if you spent more time budgeting your overuse of meats, and less time looking like a hipster's wet dream, you might be able to afford your rent, sandwich.

mambo italiano, cheesy bites pizza.

don't you think you're overdoing it? is all that shit really necessary? you're like, a party in the front, a barf bag in the back.

stop looking at me like that, burger.

i'm so sure, dude. sitting there across the room, daring me to look your way. well, i won't do it. i don't care how great your buns are, you're just a greasy cow.

i see what you did there, snickers.

you think you're better than everyone, sitting there laughing while we get sticky and fat. what a douchebag. and a lot of kids are allergic to peanuts, so not only are you a douchebag, but you're also deadly. nice one, snickers.