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I Ain’t No Punk B1tch…Don’t Nobody Thank Me For Coming To No Store

January 17, 2011

I was walking out of the store when the Manager said, “Thank you for coming, Sir.”

That kind’a pissed me off.

“What’chu say, man?”

“Thank you for coming.”

I snatched this Shopper who was walking out, “Don’t thank me for coming!  Thank this man for coming!  Look at all he bought!”

Suddenly, a 2-liter Pepsi, the Enquirer and a store employee fell out from underneath the Shopper’s jacket.

The Shopper was arrested for shoplifting, kidnapping and the most serious crime of liking the Enquirer with Donny Osmand on its cover which carries a mandatory 15 years to life.

“I really wanna thank you for coming now, Sir!  You caught a thief!”

I shouted into the intercom, “Don’t thank me!  Thank that Nun in aisle 12 looking at the pregnancy tests!”

Everyone in the store looked down aisle 12, at the Nun.

She lowered her head, raced out.

“Or thank that couple smooching in the booze section!”

Everyone looked down the booze section…a man with three little triplets shouted, “Hey, that’s my wife!  I’m divorcing you!”

The triplets started bawling, made a scene in the produce section.

“You need to thank them!” I shouted and walked out.

When I got outside, the triplets knocked me to the ground, held me down.

Triplet 1, “Snitches get stitches.”

Triplet 2, “Snitches get stitches.”

Triplet 3, “Snitches get stitches.”

Then the Nun and the thief Shopper, who had broken free from the cops, proceeded to make sure I needed stitches.

Don’t nobody thank me for coming to no store.

I ain’t no punk b1tch.

Corona

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