Grilled cheese, I’ve had about enough of you….

And your cheesy bullshit. So what, your gooey middle is packaged between toasty goodness. I could care less, you’re dead to me. And on another note…I don’t know what kind of “look” you’re going for, but you might want to reconsider. You probably think you look so cool and laid back, but look at you! Spilling out all over yourself, you’re a fucking disaster. Disgusting. How do you even go out in public like that? I might have fallen for that disheveled charm when I was a teenager, but no more! Get your shit together, and then maybe we can talk.

Fuck you, Russ.

Be my Valentine? You want me to be your Valentine? Well you know what Sugarless Russell Stover Valentine's Chocolate? I'd rather snuggle a hedgehog before I be your valentine. Yeah, I said it. What is it exactly that gets you off, Russ? May I call you Russ? Well I damn well will. What makes your little soulless red cardboard heart tick? Is it the fact that you tricked me into thinking you were really delicious chocolate? Was it because you sat taunting me and my singledom in Walgreens a full five weeks before the fateful day? Well Russ, this time you have gone TOO FAR. How dare you not only flaunt my relationship status around town like a sad Facebook update but also dare to take away my sugar? What is this strawberry bubblegum chewy piece of crap? All I wanted to do was sit on my couch and eat little nuggets of joy. Instead, you steamrolled my self-esteem like a Zamboni. My personal life is already in disarray and I couldn't even get the box of soul-filling candy right. You are like that guy I hooked up with last weekend. You were cute. You were a good kisser. You liked Obama. But then you went and didn't call. That's who you are, Russ. You're the asshole that didn't call. So appealing on the outside. Full of empty promises on the inside. Well you know what, Russ? I'm through with you. I hope you got what you wanted out of this. Asshole.

Fucking Con-Artist

Sooo the last time I checked....MARTINIS were served in MARTINI glasses. WHAT in the fuck do you think you're doing? Dessert belongs on a plate. Maybe...maybe in a bowl. But not in a fucking martini glass. When I see a martini glass, I expect to feel a little less aware of my problems by the time I've consumed the contents of that martini glass. And HOW in the fuck am I supposed to do that when my martini glass is full of ice cream and drizzled chocolate or lemon meringue and cherries or creamy pudding with tiny little cookies on top. This is wrong. It's wrong and it's sick. And it confuses me when I am trying to order a fucking beverage.  Keep your sweet, sticky, thieving fingers away from my glassware, desserts. Go back to the dark corner of Hell from which you came.