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I Ain’t No Punk B1tch…Don’t Nobody Tell Me What To Order From No Restaurant

December 6, 2010

I went to eat at this fine establishment yesterday when the server said, “Would you like to try a Big Mac and some fries, Sir?”

That kind’a pi$$ed me off.

“What’chu say, man?”

“Would you like to try a Big Mac and some fries or a drink?”

I proceeded to order some spark plugs and a radiator because spark plugs look like fries and I figured I’d drink the lime-colored antifreeze from the radiator.

“We don’t serve car parts here, Sir.  But there’s an automobile supply store right up the stree-”

I handed him a tennis racket and a tennis ball, “Serve.”

“We don’t serve tennis balls, Sir.”

I heard this couple arguing in line and noticed they were wearing wedding bands.

I quickly drew up some divorce papers and told the server to go serve that couple.

“We don’t server divorce papers here, Sir.  I mean you just can’t order divorce papers.”

I placed the papers on the dollar menu, ordered them off the menu and served the couple.

“What’s this?” The man asked.

“Divorce papers.”

“But I don’t want a divorce!”

“Yes you do,” I countered, “Your wife is a pain in the a$$.  I got one just like her.”

“I am yours, you idiot,” the lady said.

Don’t nobody tell me what to order from no menu.

I ain’t no punk b1tch.

Corona

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