Dear Fat Bitch Supervisor at Von's in Nipomo:
I had my printed license, ATM card AND passport, plus my own haggard mug right there in person, and you still wouldn't let me buy my wine. All I wanted, after my long long day of work and gym and walking over a mile from the bus stop, was a nice glass of wine. So, I hope for justice's sake that one day when you are in the same situation(minus the gym or walking parts, for those are obviously situations you are never in) that some wide-assed bucked-toothed back-woods Code Red Mountain Dew drinking Bacon Club Chalupa gorging "Management Material" denies you your one and only pleasure in lieu of some bureaucratic bullshit instilled in you during your paid training at the only job you've ever had, and when some toothless skinny methed out fuck mounts you at your cousin's party you can pass along the legacy to your daughter who will undoubtedly be named Krystal or Cheyenne or Nevaeh(its heaven backwards you know) cause those names are classy, see.
Much love,
Angela
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2 comments:
I love that you even know the names of her kids. Hahaha. Classic. Can we see more letters to people you hate? I'd really love that.
I had one written to my mom, but it was mostly just about her choices that lead up to me being brown.
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