Lately, I've been blogging about a lot of blah, blah, blah bullshit, so I decided to get back to my roots. Making fun of people. You can thank me later.
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I've referenced one extra-creepy son of a bitch in a previous post, but he's taken his possible serial killer game up a notch, so he gets a sequel.
Creepy Coffee Man, as I mentioned earlier, kills people. (I'm at least 96 percent certain.) He's more than awkward and vagina-deprived, he has a look in his eyes that suggests he goes home and does this. And as of lately, he been rather smitten with our favorite little racist.
He stalks her. Following her outside, lighting her Newport, laughing at her tales of clubbing and shopping at Wet Seal, all the while imagining what her face look like on his nightstand.
Now a part of me wants to give this man some chloroform, an alibi and call it a day. I mean, this bitch has made my work environment less than desirable, with all her spray-tan fumes and Ke$ha glitter, but then my stupid fucking conscience gets the best of me, and I realize it's wrong to let Creepy Coffee Man put her in his freezer. Although, I am open to being convinced otherwise.
But until then, me and the other baristas keep an eye on him, which he is well aware of.
“Why are they being so nosy?” he asks her. “Why don't they trust me with you?”
“I don't know,” she says, giggling and flipping her hair. She then rolls her shirt up, exposing her midriff, and asks him how he likes her new bellybutton ring.
And then I can't help but think, “Ah, fuck it," and begin my Google search for chloroform.
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