I saw you this weekend.

You there with your “fuck me” pumps on… or at least that’s what I think they were supposed to be. I can’t believe you were sucking face with the cook. I mean it wasn’t like you were at Wolfgang Puck’s place, you know a place with some class. It was a bar… a dive bar for that matter. Guess you were hard up. I know how it is some times when you haven’t had anything but the precursor to a pickle for the last 6 months. Its okay, I’m sure the grease stains will wash out of the sheets. I know you're loud... but damn that night you were really loud... and that was before you got it on with the cook. I loved it when you ordered drinks and put it on someone else’s tab. I’m sure you didn’t know that it was a small world after all and that the people you scored from were co-workers with other people you know. Typically I say “I’ve never been kicked out of this place before”, but I’m usually joking. But, that’s not the case with you that night. I’m sure you new man can hook you up right with free French fries and stuff. Oh and I saw you charge your lounger upholstery to a customer so that you wouldn’t have to pay for it. Must be nice to screw people in so many different ways.