Dear fat american movie-goer

I see what you did there tonight. fat lady. i ate my dinner, i had my desert, and i walked through the movie line, and didn’t stop for more snacks. but you, oh YOU did. and by god you DID. i walked by you and stared as i saw you with your hand in the gigantic-tub-o-popcorn. the tub was only half full, maybe you had eaten some already, spread it out with the family? no, you were alone. you and you’re hand, oh my that HAND! the other half of the pop corn, in another giganto-tub. and what were you doing? draining, not drizzling-casually, i mean you were FUCKING DRAINING the portable cart-o-butter. i took a good minute to pass by you. my jaw dropped, but you didn’t notice. you had your hand in that bucket, tossing the kernels, tossing like there’s no tomorrow. but the faucet of butter was on full blast and you were just making sure that EVERY KERNEL HAD AT LEAST 4 GALLONS OF BUTTER.

we couldn’t believe ourselves at the gluttony you were bathing in. i could see the butter/grease/lard substance covering your entire hand up to your wrist. we moved on, an obvious example of pure American fat-bastard-syndrome had just been witnessed.

I walked to the bathroom, to relieve myself of a rather large shit. I took my sweet time. But dammit, when I came out, you were STILL FUCKING THERE. tossing you corn covered butter away. this was no longer popcorn with butter, this was butter with popcorn in it. damn that popcorn, always fucking up the butter and making a mess. woman, please, for the love of all that’s holy, seek help. you’re a disgusting fat piece of shit and you need to be restrained from butter. they need to put butter in the witness protection agency, because you will destroy every last ounce of it.

I’m sure that you sweat butter. you disgust me, you and every other fat-bastard-butter-eating-glutton out there.

oh, and shame on you movie theater, for capitalizing on this demented woman’s problem.

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