Hey there, how are you doing? Oh that’s good.
When it comes to cutting lines I have proven to be one of the best in the world. The best being, Michael Snapperfin from Denmark. It’s reported he once killed a baby sheep to move up two spaces in a line at the doctors office.
I have eased through lunch lines, drive thru lines, and even the very risky amusement park line, but have always come out successful. Yesterday marks a dark day in my line cutting life.
I should probably start by saying people are not in the happiest of moods when it comes to voting. And when you add the amount of time it took them to cast their vote, they become even angrier. But a 4 hour line is not something that interest my child-like attention span. So when I was asked by the security guard at the door where I was going, I said calmly, “The bathroom”. He fell for it, so simple, so stupid. Then I used the cutters secret weapon, I pretended to talk on the cell phone as I walked in front of 450-500 people. It worked, but when my phone rang during my fake conversation, it did draw some unneeded attention.
From there I preceded into the line by trying to mingle with the people in front of me. I said something like “Wow we have been waiting for SOOO long”. They replied with a simple “Why are you talking to me”? I knew if the person right behind me didn’t cause I fuss, there would be a 90% chance of making it through the finish. Happily all he did was make a angry face at me while he turned up his ipod and proceeded reading his book, Learning to Speak Up For Yourself: A Guide To Stop Acting Like A Little Bitch.
Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like cheese. I knew something came about the line, something bad, very bad. People started looking at other people and looking at me. One lady in a wheelchair kept rolling it closer and closer, the wheels squeaking loudly with each forced motion. A black man next to me started picking at the herpes blister on his lip. I still wasn’t sure if this was an indication he was angry, but when he began flicking the herpes scabs at my face, I knew this might mean real trouble. I watched as a Indian women’s red dot turned from a shade of bright lipstick red, to a deep Burgundy, almost blood like. Legs were fidgeting, arms were flexing, and eyes were beaming down on my hairy neck. Then it happened. I didn’t see it coming. It was to late.
Apparently the Indian women wasn’t really Indian, she was just a chunky little Puerto Rican, and that red dot was just one of the Black mans herpes blisters stuck to her forehead. She walked up to me staring, grilling, defiantly ready for a mean scuffle. But before she could slap me with her Spanish slang, I was kicked in the shin by the lady in the wheel chair. While she kicked me she yelled out, “Vemon!!!!”. I have know clue why she would yell out Venom, and this led me to believe she had some sort of retardation. The shy guy reading the book, Learning to Speak Up For Yourself: A Guide To Stop Acting Like A Little Bitch, just looked away, scared, like a bitch. Many other people started to take notice of me and they weren’t having it. People in groups began bombarding me with verbal lashing with terms like, “Cutter, Scum Bag, Cream Cheese Face, Dentist, Terrorist, Paloney Man”. One guy even started banging on his chair and yelling out to alert security. As the large security office ran up I suavely tried to sneak out the back, he stopped me and asked where I was going. I calmly pointed and replied “To the water fountain”. His eyes barked at me as I turned to see I was pointing at a book shelf. “Oops my bad” I said. The Black man with the monstrous herpes yelled something of the sort “Shut up terrorist, before I kill you”. I didn’t want nothing with him, he was a beast. I quickly ducked through some shelf and hide by the Danielle Steel books. This did not throw anyone off, and the security guard sprinted at me while I pretended to read a novel. As he closed the book I was reading I asked what’s the matter? I said I have been reading a delightful novel for quite some time and you just came over here and harassed me. By this time the band of angry voters had surrounded me. As the circle got smaller and smaller, the one in the wheel chair started yelling, “I am legend”. She grabbed a Nickolas Sparks novel and chucked it at me, hitting me in thigh. I yelled out for mercy, but the Puerto Rican deafened my pleas for help, by sticking her hand in my mouth. Her fingers tasted of rocatta cheese and steel. I was surrounded, scared, and badly desiered to rises my mouth with dissinfectant. I could here the large black man and the security guard softly talking in the background. It sounded like the security guard would tie me to the wheel chair, as the large African American would speard his herpe puss on my face like jelly. I thought about ending it all right there, but then I remembered Barack needs me.
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