A Side Of Hairy
You haven’t eaten all day. It’s just one of those days when one thing led to another until you suddenly discover that you’re having a conversation with your stomach and it just called you a “callous bastard” in an ominous growl. You finally get off work and decide to go out to eat because you just don’t have the energy to come up with something tasty and nutritious on your own. So that dinner - whatever it’s going to be - is looking pretty frickin’ amazing in your head right about then.
You sit down at a table in the first non-sketchy restaurant you could find that didn’t have a line-up. You quickly scan the menu for an item that has the most saliva-inducing description and order it. Fifteen minutes later (which is fifteen minutes much too late in your opinion), the food arrives. You lovingly feast your eyes on the wonder spread before you. Even your stomach’s latest growl of “barbaric prick” trailed off at the scent of the food.
Rubbing your hands in anticipation, you are about to dedicate your next ten minutes to patching things up with your stomach when your sights swivel and lock on a certain garnishment on the plate that would’ve been hidden from the untrained eye: a strand of hair. Suddenly, you and your stomach both agree that all appetite has officially been lost as of that moment.
It’s everyone’s pet peeve. It doesn’t matter if the person who left behind that strand of hair had taken a shower right before his/her restaurant shift – it’s still so repulsive that the entire plate of food would have to be deemed contaminated. It’s even worse if that strand of hair were curly. Mull that image over.
Okay, I have to go because I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with this, which will take the grossness to the next hilarious level:
The new WMD: Rocket Pubes
(Image courtesy of: PassiveAggressiveNotes.com)
