Dear Douche Nozzles.
I will, with some reticence, keep this as simple as I can. Perhaps it was one too many concussions on the football field, perhaps it was that extra keg stand, perhaps it was just one too many rounds of clap killing antibiotics that made you and your brothers go soft in the head. Regardless of the reason you behaved so abominably last night (and the fact that I am indeed being far too generous with any assumption of your intelligence as you went to “Shake Hands with the Devil” that night at the theatre assuming that Romeo Dallaire was a Shakespeare character) you need to be taught a lesson. You are never too old or too cool to be spanked, and gentlemen, consider this letter my fucking knee.
It was bad enough that you showed up late to your reservation, perhaps a bit worse that you chose to quibble with the location of your seats, squashing you and your table of 15 into the corner farthest from the kitchen and bar. To be honest, given the color of your language and the stench of the ditch weed you’d previously been smoking before gracing me with your presence, having you sequestered in a corner where the only senses you could assault were my own was probably a blessing.
It was worse when you all acted like newly minted 18 year olds, insisting that I repeat each item on tap for each group of your self aggrandizing frat brothers, as if I didn’t have anything better to do after already working for nine hours that day. But I plodded through, gave you my three token boy jokes, made you laugh. I even stood up on a chair with the butter knife attached to a broom handle to change the TV to football for you.
As your group of mongaloid knuckle draggers began to dwindle and, I can only guess, stagger through town whacking women on the head and dragging them back to your communal cave, three of you decided hell, “I’m only in Supply Chain Management! I still have to find two pennies to rub together to make a cohesive thought in my sloping forehead. I might as well just stay here, harrass what is obviously a tired waitress, and continue to drink bad pitchers of beer.” (Though I’m sure in your mind that only translated as “Me thirsty. See titties. Stay here.”)
So, despite my thorough attempts to encourage you to do basic math and pay your fucking bill, I left you and your fellow onanists to play with each other in the corner. I checked in with you regularly until, stupid me, I had to deal with another group of poorly trained young adults tossing potato skins at each other and drinking Coors Light. (What is WRONG with you people?)
And you left. Without paying.
Brothers, a pox on you and your entire hall. I hope that each and everyone of you suffer the indignity of severe erectile dysfunction every night of your life, left as limp and sad in your hand as your unpaid bills in mine. I pray that you try to return to the only pub in town when I’m working so that you may suffer the wrath of my very tiny, very angry fists upon your protruding brow ridge. I hope that you are driven to distraction by the sound of your own pea brain rattling around in that giant pre-historic skull of yours.
But I am not without grace you disgusting ass sniffing dick weeds. I do want to thank you. In fact, I want to thank your mothers for ostensibly smoking, drinking and sticking their thumbs in your soft spots and causing you to be so blind as to tell me not only where you live, and leaving your phone number for a reservation, but to inform me that one of you not only used to work at the pub, but may be working there this Saturday. When I will be waiting to go positively medieval on your pimply jock strapped asses, and attempt to doll out the same embarrassment, disappointment and sadness upon you that I felt when I had to take money out of the ATM at the end of the night to cover your bill.
Do not think for just one moment that I will hesitate to put you over my knee and spank you for your bad manners and questionable personal hygiene. Assholes.
ps – To the other sweet young men from various other halls in the pub that night who tried to make up for your bad behavior by scrounging through coat pockets for extra change – May you be blessed with many large breasted women and free chicken wings for the rest of your lives. You are sweet and kind.