To the black booted bar star in the stall next to me at the seahorse bathroom last night who couldn't be bothered to spare a square as I yelped for your assistance. Luckily, a far less self absorbed girl in better looking boots came to my aid and announced that you had PLENTY SQUARES TO SPARE.
Fuck you. I hope you have diarrhea on your wedding day and you reek as bad as your personality. I hope they serve chili in hell you disgusting fucking hob goblin. Smell ya later bitch. —Squareless in Seattle