I am in one hell of a mood right now. Allow me to illustrate.
Dear Wendy’s ghetto manager whore:
When a pregnant girl rolls up in her car with her admittedly slightly psycho dog in the passenger seat, you hand her the God damn shakes, ok? You don’t make her unfasten her seatbelt, lean way forward thereby folding her son in half due to the fact that her dog, heaven for-fucking-bid, stuck his snoot out the window and stared adoringly at the shakes. I literally had to move my car FORWARD in order to get the shakes. While you stood there and refused to move and kept the shakes out of my reach.
I know in the ghetto you only have dogs with spike chains around their necks who have been “trained” with kicks to the body and starvation type methods, but here? Yeah, we love our dogs and might even share a fry with them. That behavior? Makes them happy. So deliriously happy that had said psycho dog made contact with you? He’d have probably only hurt you in his attempts at licking your face from ear to ear. So next time instead of staring at me like a dumbass while I claim over and over “He won’t do anything” and “He is more interested in the shakes than you, trust me” just hand me my fucking food and go back to buffing your gold tooth.
Do we have an understanding?
Yeah, that’s what I thought.