You were at a fast food place in Dartmouth on Christmas Day. I saw you... hell, we ALL saw you. You picked on the poor staff because they didn't get your order exactly right, then made your humiliated family send their food back in front of everyone so you could storm out indignantly. But, not before you picked on the counter girl until she cried (on Christmas Day).

You sir, are a monster. You are the worst kind of person. You're an abusive, miserable brat and the reason you're so unhappy is because you've spent your life making the people around you unhappy.

I don't hate you. I feel sorry for you. You have no friends. I saw the faces of your family as you threw tantrums and abused your way around that place. They hate you and are probably just trying to find the safest time to flee your presence. I feel even worse for you because eventually, guaranteed, someone will finally put you in your place and that place will likely involve serious injury. There were no less than five men there today who were discussing the best way to put us out of your misery. You will always feel hard done by because of your bitter, angry, entitled attitude until the day you die, alone and unwanted.

I hope your holidays are happy, dear sir. I can't imagine you have much happiness in your life. —Bob Crachet