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chicken thigh special

Main Ingredients:
seat mate
chicken thighs

Spice Pack:
1/4 cup of aggressiveness
1/3 smidge of moodiness
1/8 teaspoon of frustration
1 dash of disgust

look, i see the way you're staring. you think i don't know what it looks like? brown guy like me in a dark hoodie, knife in my hand? yellin at a white lady with fuckin GLOVES and a PARASOL?
and jesus a parasol i mean -- the fuck is this? the victorian era?

okay look, i'm putting the knife down. i'm putting it down. see? i wasn't gonna fuckin kill her or nothin jesus christ

she just got on my last nerve, ya know?

she insulted my cooking and i can't stand that, i just can't stand it

what does she know, huh?

fancy gloves and all -- she goin to a tea party or what? eating little overpriced pastries made by some asshole in a white hat and all?

what does she think she's doin here, anway? you don't just come for my shrimp and grits wearing a dress like that! i ain't paying for your dry cleaning, dumbass! there she goes. finally. don't fall for that act, she aint the dainty little doe she's tryna be.

god it just pisses me off, ya know?

i got a good thing going here, everyone loves my food -- i mean really LOVES it. mrs. fazal and her kids come in every Friday evening for the chicken thigh special! her kids love that - it's the extra fat on the thighs, makes it juicy and all, real popular with the little ones. oh and this one time! this one time, i was on the bus over from my mom's house in harlingen and the dude in the seat next to me, he looked pretty worn out and like he could use a bite to eat, so i took him here and gave him a good steak dinner, and you know what? next week he comes back with eight of his friends and they've been regulars ever since. i got a good thing going here.

do i have the yelp reviews? no sir i don't but that ain't my fault. it ain't my fault those pansy assed rich whites would rather go drink their overpriced coffee and eat some mediocre dry ass shit across town, typing up those gushy reviews like they know what a good meal tasted like. i just wish more people knew, right? i mean i got a good thing going but i wouldn't say no to some new customers, yeah? unless they're gonna bring a damn parasol into my establishment. fuck that.

i dunno. maybe my temper gets the best of me sometimes and some people - like mrs. fazal - they know what i'm like and they don't expect too much, right? but i can't be that chill hipster dude serving you coffee and a fancy little bite of food. that's just not who i am, ya know? i dunno. i'm just tryna keep business up. promised mama i'd buy her a house but those mortgage payments just never end, right? i got a lot resting on this.

guess it's about closing time now. nobody comes in after 10. now that i think about it, the fuck was that lady doing out with a parasol at night? there's no fuckin sun.

jesus, i gotta stop thinking about it.

anyway, you coming in for a quick bite or what? i still got some of those chicken thighs.


  • LMFAO!!! Hilarious – I love how you (or your character) has such a strong voice. It really feels like this blunt chef who gives no fucks whatsoever is talking to me because of the conversational tone. The lack of capitalization adds to how casual it all sounds. Super-engaging story/post!
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