Joe treats himself to that awesome peach milkshake at Chick-fil-A, and he’ll entertain no complaints from the peanut gallery:
[G]o ahead, rat me out for the milkshake. Ruin my good day. I bet you swipe Milk-bones from puppies. You probably are mean to cats. You make faces at little babies and reach over the shoulder and steal hot dogs right out of the bun from toddlers at the beach. I bet you smash Twinkies on the shelf at the grocery. You probably think the Grinch was a ruined soul by the end of the cartoon. You hate flowers. You root against the Cubs. You probably think Hillary is to be admired. You believe in the fairy tale that is Democrat Socialism. You don’t find the Three Stooges funny. You probably drive a Prius and think plastic straws are the bane of an over-commercialized society. You find Esther Williams movies tedious and do not see what is so great about a John Wayne flick. You probably do not care for the music of Elvis and find the art of Jackson Pollock “intriguing”. That is just who you are: a little sniveling rat fink, out to deny me one small pleasure on a gloomy rainy afternoon.
I knew I’d get a chance to post that someday.