I keep having dreams of yelling at my Father, but he's been OK with me tonight.
I remember you, loud tall white dude with the University of Illinois hat. Sitting down in the chair right next to me at Barnes & Noble this afternoon with a loud "fwhomp!" to let everyone know you just plopped your ass down! Oh, you must've been pissed about something, with the way you noisily turned the pages in the fantasy baseball magazine you were sneak-reading. And when you were done, you acted the gentleman, put the mag on the coffee table and got up as quickly as you sat down. You got up so fast it was like you had hydraulic legs raise you up instead of using your knees, arms and torso to free you from the angry chair! And since you didn't even take your lame-ass jacket off, you had no reason to say and chit-chat with us dirty peons. No, I saw you dart and slalom your way through the aisles to the front door, as if you totally forgot your fantasy baseball research.
And when a sweet, nice woman came five minutes later to sit in the seat your ass occupied, I noticed you left her a special gift on the chair: A balled-up used napkin! Just for her?! Why, you don't even know her! What a sweet, conscientious asshole you are!
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