Dear anyone who drives OVER cones and into a very busy market and then squeezes your car between two vendors and then tells me, “just 5 minutes,”


Get. Out.

Let me move this now-flattened cone for you-


Dear woman at the party who insisted that I was much prettier now then 3 years ago and that if I lose a few more pounds I’ll be a real knockout,

Fuck you. 

Pardon my language, but I don’t think anything else truly sums it up.
If you lost some rudeness, you could be a real knockout too-