-If you plan on being an ass at anyplace that serves food and drinks, let me know so I can go ahead of you. You ordered the spit soup bitch.
-Just because you need to bring a huge fucking stroller for your sticky little kids down into the Metro on a Saturday afternoon, doesn't give you the right to run over my feet or force me out of the way. It's liable to cause me to accidently punt your little bastard onto the third rail.
-To the bitch from the bar at Unos: You're a whore and you smell bad.
-I need my own space. I'm not spitting on my gracious hosts, but i'm bound to go crazy. My apartment is bitchin' though.
-Greg, if you don't take your laundry out of the washer, i'll make it smell girly.
-I don't feel well.
There was a lot more of these in my head when I sat down to write this, but it sorta petered out at the end.
