The Most Horrible Person Alive . . .

. . . is living in my town. 

I'm sorry to say this but I do believe that some people are nothing more than a plague of humanity.  That's a rather hateful statement, borderline so many levels of -ists and -isms that it probably lumps me into that plague-like group as well.  But sometimes hate is justified . . . and I do believe that if anyone had been in my position, they too would've had one thought in their mind: you, sir, are the biggest piece of shit alive. 

SCENARIO:

It was 2:30pm and Kayla and I were on our way to work.  We stopped by a little gas station for some much needed provisions--energy drinks, cigarettes and chewy cow-tails--and it was I who was elected to acquire said items of interests.  And so there I was, standing in line, behind a rather un-comely man and his daughter. 

The daughter was a mess.  An absolute mess.  It looked as if it had been days since she had bathed, her hair was a matted and disheveled, and the gia-normous tee-shirt she was wearing was quite possibly the only thing she was wearing as it hung down to her knees.  Yet, despite such an appearance, one cannot blame the young and innocent.  Instead, one could only smile as she attempted to buy a piece of candy.  She had a handful of change, but was short about twenty-five cents.  And so, she turned to her father who smiled and handed over a quarter, like a father should.  His daughter was happy and waited by the door for her father.

when the father approached the counter it was evident he was of the low-life category.  His clothes were dirty, with holes in them, and he had an enormous wound on his face (like the result of a fight) and he wore a gold chain despite talking like a true-blooded country boy.  And he placed on the counter a forty ounce bottle of some cheap, fizzy beer and a giant forty ounce Styrofoam cup filled with ice . . . filled only with ice.  (Gee, I wonder what he was going to pour into that forty ounce cup of ice while he drove around town with his daughter?)  And guess what . . . when all was said and done, he was twenty-five cents short of the total. Twenty-five cents which he had given to his daughter so she may buy a piece of candy.  The man was not pleased . . .

And so he begged his daughter to come back to counter and refund her candy so he could get his twenty-five cents back and quench his alcoholic-low-life thirst.  He did, however, promise to buy his daughter ice cream.   

That really ruined my day yesterday.