Thwarted by McBitches and McOldfucks

I pass by a McDonald’s on the way to work.

Every single morning.

And every single morning, excepting those I’ve left ridiculously early to make up time, the line to McDonald’s extends into the street.

Bright (or even gloomy) and early, people anxiously await their sacks of fat and jugs of soda.

I have something I’d like to say to these motherfuckers.

To the White Collar Fat Bitches: It’s a quarter to 8:00. I’ll be behind one of your cohort momentarily, watching you shovel that sausage biscuit into your mouth as you drive. Crumbs tumbling down into your decolletage. Greasy fingerprints smearing your steering wheel. You’re going to march your fat ass into work and give side-eye to all the hot bitches who don’t smell like grease and shame. You did this to yourself. And you got in my way doing it. Bitch.

Disclaimer to the White Collar Fat Bitches: I’m one of you. But I have the sense to not block traffic for a sack of fat in rush hour. Bitches. Plus, McDonald’s is shit. You’re eating shit. Deep-fried shit. I hope you get extra dimples in your thighs with every crumb that falls into your cleavage.

To the Becardiganed Old Fuckers: When I finally steer my way around the McBitches, I encounter you next. In your McBuick or McOldsmobile, shrouded in your year-round cardigan. I know you’ve got a coffee pot at home, you old fuck. But more importantly, you’ve probably been up since five o-fucking clock. Yet here you are, slowly creeping out of the drive-thru lanes. Turtling your way into traffic. At 7:47 A.M. What the fuck is the matter with you? You know what? I think you’re doing this shit on purpose. If you’ve gotta wear year-round cardigans and shake with the palsy, by god you’re gonna make the rest of us pay. With your slow, confused ass. Fucker.

Disclaimer to the Becardiganed Old Fuckers: I’m aware I’ll be one of  you one day. If I make it that long. And maybe I’ll too play games with the younguns. I’ll have fuckall else to do. But I want you to remember this. Next time you’re in the grocery store at a quarter ’til Jeopardy, I’m passin’ the clerk a tip and a note asking her to call for a loud price check of your Depends Undergarments. Or to tell you they no longer accept checks. Oh yeah. Payback is a bitch.

Next time y’all think about blocking traffic during rush hour for subpar fast food – NEWSFLASH: McDonald’s serves breakfast all fucking day now!