TRUENOCOUPE
01-06-2004, 06:22 PM
NO. It ain't me. I don't work no god damn pretzel place. But I still LOLed. hahahhahhahahha
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/19852681.html
Reply to: [email protected]
Date: Mon Nov 24 13:17:18 2003
Beleive me I know. I have a shitty job. I roll pretzels for 7.40 an hour in the mall. I wear a stupid hat and a stupid fucking shirt and a stupid fucking apron. I get to see myself in the mirror in back before I start my shift and I am reminded each time of how shitty my job is and how pathetic I feel. I therefore do not need any of the following from you:
I don't need you to ask me if I went to school to learn how to twist the pretzel dough. Don't be a fucking idiot. Everytime you think you are impressing the little whore by your side with her eyes on your credit card by saying "So did you go to pretzel school to learn that?" I want to smash your face into the god damn glass pretzel warmer.
An appropriate response to "Hello, How are you today?" is not to bark "Do you sell ice cream?" Look at the picture on my fucking apron, asshole. Does it look like fucking ice cream, or a hot dog, or a fucking smoothie? It's funny shaped bread you dick. Read the motherfucking sign.
And would it fucking kill you to say hello as if I were an actuall human being?
I do not have leprosey. I am the one who just rolled your god damn pretzel. There is no need to ignore my outstreached hand and throw your money on the counter. I only want to drown you in the melted fucking butter when you do that shit.
You do not deserve a free pretzel, I don't care how fucking great you are.
The lemonade says fresh sqeezed. That means we squeeze the god damn lemons. Hundreds of the fuckers. Just so we can put up that sign. If I tell you that we squeeze them, plese don't say "really?" like I am going to bother lying to you. Like I give a flying fuck if you buy a god damn lemonade or not.
And I really really appreciate it when I acidentally burn myself on the 600 degree oven and while watching my flesh bubble up and turn bright white I get to hear your cock-smoking ass yell "Way to go, Pretzel Boy!" because I dropped the god damn baking sheet that just killed every nerve in my right hand and you think its funny.
I don't come to where you work and smack the cock out of your mouth.
I swear to Christ the next fucker to call me Pretzel Boy is getting a cinnamon-sugar enema.
Repost? Eat shiet. I still LOLed. :lol:
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/wdc/19852681.html
Reply to: [email protected]
Date: Mon Nov 24 13:17:18 2003
Beleive me I know. I have a shitty job. I roll pretzels for 7.40 an hour in the mall. I wear a stupid hat and a stupid fucking shirt and a stupid fucking apron. I get to see myself in the mirror in back before I start my shift and I am reminded each time of how shitty my job is and how pathetic I feel. I therefore do not need any of the following from you:
I don't need you to ask me if I went to school to learn how to twist the pretzel dough. Don't be a fucking idiot. Everytime you think you are impressing the little whore by your side with her eyes on your credit card by saying "So did you go to pretzel school to learn that?" I want to smash your face into the god damn glass pretzel warmer.
An appropriate response to "Hello, How are you today?" is not to bark "Do you sell ice cream?" Look at the picture on my fucking apron, asshole. Does it look like fucking ice cream, or a hot dog, or a fucking smoothie? It's funny shaped bread you dick. Read the motherfucking sign.
And would it fucking kill you to say hello as if I were an actuall human being?
I do not have leprosey. I am the one who just rolled your god damn pretzel. There is no need to ignore my outstreached hand and throw your money on the counter. I only want to drown you in the melted fucking butter when you do that shit.
You do not deserve a free pretzel, I don't care how fucking great you are.
The lemonade says fresh sqeezed. That means we squeeze the god damn lemons. Hundreds of the fuckers. Just so we can put up that sign. If I tell you that we squeeze them, plese don't say "really?" like I am going to bother lying to you. Like I give a flying fuck if you buy a god damn lemonade or not.
And I really really appreciate it when I acidentally burn myself on the 600 degree oven and while watching my flesh bubble up and turn bright white I get to hear your cock-smoking ass yell "Way to go, Pretzel Boy!" because I dropped the god damn baking sheet that just killed every nerve in my right hand and you think its funny.
I don't come to where you work and smack the cock out of your mouth.
I swear to Christ the next fucker to call me Pretzel Boy is getting a cinnamon-sugar enema.
Repost? Eat shiet. I still LOLed. :lol: