AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
People are fucking inconsiderate RETARDS! I don't even want to use that word... it's an insult for those poor souls with Down Syndrome... to be compared to "normal" humans who CHOOSE to have complete disregard for their peers. I haven't met a single person with Down Syndrome who was an asshole... "regular" people on the other hand...
Anyway,
Not only was I hit by a shopping cart as I picked up some hairspray at Walmart today (Check it: I was STANDING, reaching for the bottle of hairspray, I was nearly ON the fucking display, TOTALLY as out of the way as I'm humanly-fucking-possible, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart moving towards me. I think nothing of it, because it was going slow... and I'M NOT INVISIBLE, the idiot driving the cart HAD TO SEE ME-- I THOUGHT. But no, instead, I feel the cart dig into me, my pelvic area... slowly... and pressure beings to be applied... like what you'd do when you feel your cart being obstructed by... fuck, I don't know... a pillow? "Maybe if I push hard enough it'll magically disappear!" What the fuck do I know, I've never been fucking retarded enough NOT to look at what's obstructing my cart's MOVEMENT. ANYWAY, I look at the DUMB MOTHERFUCKING CUNT driving the cart [GUESS her what she was... just GUESS! Stereotypes exist FOR A MOTHERFUCKING REASON! Can't even drive a motherfucking SHOPPING CART!], I just STARE at her face, not saying a word... wondering WHEN THE FUCK she'll finally look up and see what she's HITTING. Finally, the bitch looks up. I make eye-contact. I give her my best "Why, hello, there, IMBECILE!" look. And she apologizes "Oh my God! I'm sorry!" I don't say a word. I just look at her cart, that is STILL ON MY PELVIS, then at her fucking STUPID face, I look at her cart again, then at her STUPID FACE. I raise my eyebrow, not saying a word, holding my fucking bottle of hairspray, and just STARE. I. Want. To. Make. Her. Feel. RETARDED. Think about what exactly she did... YOU HIT A PERSON WITH YOUR CART AND CONTINUED GOING WITHOUT LOOKING AT WHAT YOU WERE DOING... IN THE HAIRSPRAY AISLE OF WALMART, not your fucking house, where you expect NO ONE TO BE THERE. I stare. I don't budge. I just stare. And follow her with my eyes until she gets out of the aisle. You have NO IDEA how hard it was for me NOT to grab her fucking stupid cart and flip it over on her fucking stupid feet. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDIOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!) but also a FUCKING CUNT finally drove me to lose my shit in kickboxing and FINALLY physically injure the fucking shit out of someone at the gym-- MY PLACE OF REFUGE!
Horrible fucking day.
Fuck you, January 31st. Fuck you.
People are fucking inconsiderate RETARDS! I don't even want to use that word... it's an insult for those poor souls with Down Syndrome... to be compared to "normal" humans who CHOOSE to have complete disregard for their peers. I haven't met a single person with Down Syndrome who was an asshole... "regular" people on the other hand...
Anyway,
Not only was I hit by a shopping cart as I picked up some hairspray at Walmart today (Check it: I was STANDING, reaching for the bottle of hairspray, I was nearly ON the fucking display, TOTALLY as out of the way as I'm humanly-fucking-possible, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a cart moving towards me. I think nothing of it, because it was going slow... and I'M NOT INVISIBLE, the idiot driving the cart HAD TO SEE ME-- I THOUGHT. But no, instead, I feel the cart dig into me, my pelvic area... slowly... and pressure beings to be applied... like what you'd do when you feel your cart being obstructed by... fuck, I don't know... a pillow? "Maybe if I push hard enough it'll magically disappear!" What the fuck do I know, I've never been fucking retarded enough NOT to look at what's obstructing my cart's MOVEMENT. ANYWAY, I look at the DUMB MOTHERFUCKING CUNT driving the cart [GUESS her what she was... just GUESS! Stereotypes exist FOR A MOTHERFUCKING REASON! Can't even drive a motherfucking SHOPPING CART!], I just STARE at her face, not saying a word... wondering WHEN THE FUCK she'll finally look up and see what she's HITTING. Finally, the bitch looks up. I make eye-contact. I give her my best "Why, hello, there, IMBECILE!" look. And she apologizes "Oh my God! I'm sorry!" I don't say a word. I just look at her cart, that is STILL ON MY PELVIS, then at her fucking STUPID face, I look at her cart again, then at her STUPID FACE. I raise my eyebrow, not saying a word, holding my fucking bottle of hairspray, and just STARE. I. Want. To. Make. Her. Feel. RETARDED. Think about what exactly she did... YOU HIT A PERSON WITH YOUR CART AND CONTINUED GOING WITHOUT LOOKING AT WHAT YOU WERE DOING... IN THE HAIRSPRAY AISLE OF WALMART, not your fucking house, where you expect NO ONE TO BE THERE. I stare. I don't budge. I just stare. And follow her with my eyes until she gets out of the aisle. You have NO IDEA how hard it was for me NOT to grab her fucking stupid cart and flip it over on her fucking stupid feet. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDIOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!) but also a FUCKING CUNT finally drove me to lose my shit in kickboxing and FINALLY physically injure the fucking shit out of someone at the gym-- MY PLACE OF REFUGE!
Horrible fucking day.
Fuck you, January 31st. Fuck you.
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