Let me tell you something, reader. I grew up in a small town. From the time I was four years old, I'd wake up at 4am every morning and help my parents harvest plantains. Fields and fields of sexy plantains. Many of our neighbors would ask, "Can I eat one of your unusually large bananas?" And we'd say, "No, douche. Them be plantains, and they're starchy like the dickens." It was a difficult life, but we worked hard and were proud.
YET THE KID AT THE GOLF COURSE CAN'T MAKE ONE FREAKING RESERVATION I TOLD HIM TO BOOK A MONTH AGO?!? I REMINDED HIM TWICE THIS WEEK! "MAKE SURE TO SAVOR ME AN UNSCRATCHED DINING ROOM TABLE" I SAID! "IT'S VERY IMPORTANT THAT MY OVERWEIGHT WIFE AND I HAVE A TABLE TO CELEBRATE HER CHIN AUGMENTATION," I SAID! THERE WAS NO TABLE RESERVED FOR US, AND I FELT SHAME!
Ahhh, but what about the plantain farm, you ask? While underage, I'd work 14 hours straight in the hot sun, and at the end of each day I was given a firm handshake and the reassurance that my father wouldn't beat me to death for slacking. "Slacking is worse than kissing the Irish!" he'd say, his low blood sugar causing him to forget that we were Irish. Then he'd tell me to hold a bucket while he went to the bathroom in it. I never got paid, but I was grateful for the opportunity.
BUT THEY PAY THAT FRUIT AT THE GOLF COURSE $12.75 AN HOUR TO SIT IN A CORNER NOT MAKING APPOINTMENTS! I CAUGHT HIM DOING UNSAVORY THINGS BACK THERE! HE WAS READING A BOOK CALLED "SEX, DRUGS, AND COCOA PUFFS"! I'M NOT SURE WHO CHUCK KLOSTERMAN IS, BUT I'M PRETTY SURE HE DOESN'T BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST, OUR LORD AND SAVIOR!
Ahhh, but I was a rebellious boy once, too. When I turned 18, I set out on my own to work in a nearby town's factory. I was sick of eating plantains. The starch! Oh Lord, the starch! So I defied my parents to work 16 hours a day assembling Betamax players for the richfolk who could afford such things. At the end of each day, I took my 74 cents of pay and spent it on wine coolers and toothless ladies at the nearby tavern.
BUT I SAW THAT LITTLE JERK AT THE GOLF COURSE LAST WEEK WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND, AND SHE HAS ALL HER TEETH! EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! AND GET THIS, SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A DISEASE YET! BACK IN MY DAY, DISCO HAD JUST DIED AND ALL OF US HAD AIDS! AND NOT THE FUNNY KIND THAT MAGIC JOHNSON HAS! REAL AIDS WITH THE SORES AND THE LACK OF BLOOD CLOTTING!
Ahhh, but I had my fun. Every night I'd go back to my car, climb in the backseat, and cook cans of water chestnuts over my lighter before falling asleep. The seeds, so starchy! Starchy water chestnut seeds! I hate starch! But I ate them because I needed my strength. The world needed Betamax, and to provide Betamax I had to eat whatever I could afford.
YOU KNOW WHAT THAT LITTLE SHAGGY-HAIRED POOF AT THE GOLF COURSE CLUBHOUSE EATS FOR LUNCH? SANDWICHES! DELICIOUS BOLOGNA SANDWICHES! HIS MOTHER MUST BE A WHORE TO AFFORD SUCH SUSTENANCE FOR HER GAY POOF TWINK OF A SON!
Shortly after my nineteenth birthday, the Betamax plant closed down. People had rejected the technology. Worse yet, I had contracted fasciolopsiasis from the water chestnuts. Diarrhea, abdominal pain, intense fever, Cronkite-Canada syndrome. You name it, I had it. After all these years, it's a wonder I'm still able to breathe through my nose like a normal person, instead of through my mouth like a retard. But I still don't have a reservation at the golf course. That freaking douchebag kid will never understand what I went through. I hope he gets AIDS.
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