GTH: Courtesy

Since I have succumbed to the thought of eternal suffering and the hot sluts in hell, I figured I would let you know Why in a series of posts, Going to Hell, GTH, to be done while Damian 666 is scratching the pimples on his backside:

Number 1: My Obsession with Courtesy

This weekend sucked.

The weather was hot and humid as I cruised the local establishments looking for eager participants for frolics of curiosity. All the women that wanted to sweat and slobber on my chest had articles of clothing so disgustingly stuck up their crack as they walked to the ladies room I just abandoned the whole idea. Friday was just a worthless waste of beer and scotch at the local establishments.

Saturday with a heavy head and an itchy waste ejection port I went to the local pharmacy to get some ointment to keep me from scratching and digging into the nuisance area. I stroll past the $2.99 pints of cologne, the ladies stick, rags and jelly section to the backside relief aisle.

I am just about to reach for the ideal product of relief when macho man butts in front of me and snatches some medicated tissue paper. Well excuse me, we have an immortal being here!

With all the common courtesy I can muster I ask him: Am I f*ckin invisible, don’t you see me here!

He shows me the same courtesy back: F*CK U, ASSHOLE!

My elbow working on his own lands on his chin to my amazement. Oops, excuse me as he crawls his way out of the Penelope Cruz’ Loreal Ad display. I say to myself, yes, Penelope, I am Worth It!

With a newfound sense of entitlement, I just can’t resist kicking a lack of courtesy in the head while he is down. I pick up my hat and walk through a sea of customers not quite ready to pay for their goods and pay for my relief.

Sunday wasn’t much better as I lost a complete day of reading your bullshit. You can read how my Sunday went as I tried to cure a case of herpes at Me & My Dodo.


Related: Preparation H