Dear Guy

Dear Guy Selling Meat From a Truck,

It is my lunch hour, a sixty minute period in the middle of the day when I enjoy nukrowaved mooburgers from the Holler Grocery, drink Pepsi and watch stuff about Edgar Cayce on the teevee. This is not a time when I welcome visitors.. and by "visitors" I mean people I actually know. You, being some punkass little twit with bad timing a door-to-door salesman, do not fall into the visitor category, even if I were to accept visitors at this time.

When I opened the door, holding an arm full of wriggling chihuaranian and gracefully pushing a Boston baked beagle back from said door with my right foot, in a position rivalling the most difficult Yoga pose, you should have realized that knocking on my door was a really bad idea, taken the hint and left.

But no.

In what part of your tiny little mind did you think it was wise to extend your hand, in expectation of a friendly handshake when I hadn't even bothered to open the screen door? What would you suggest I open it with? My left boob?

By now, the wriggling chihuaranian was so excited that there was a stranger at the door, that he piddled a little on my shirt. I really appreciate that, Guy Selling Meat From a Truck. Now I'll have to change clothes before I go back to the Asylum.

As I teetered on one foot holding the wriggling dog, watching from the corner of my eye as the other mutt tried to sneak past my foot, I would have appreciated it if you could have just said, "Hi, I'm a loser and sell mystery meat off the back of a truck. Wanna buy some?" instead of going on about how your company "does deliveries in the area."

Because honestly? "Ribeyes, Rump Roasts and Chops... CHEAP!" painted on the side of your vehicle wasn't a clue... at all.

So Guy Selling Meat off a Truck, I hope you choose a new career path soon. I don't see you finding much success around here with your chosen occupation and there's a good chance you could end up with a bootay full of buck shot.


That Chick in the Trailer with the Dog Pee on Her Shirt