The night before last, I had a dream about walking home in the dark, and an asian fighting man jumped out of some bushes and was gonna try to kick my ass. He had his hair half up half down, like kung fu fighters do, and he was shirtless and was wearing a red ribbon around his waist tied in the back with black parachute pants, like M.C. Hammer's. So this dude flies out over these bushes screamin' like a banchee, and I turn to him and draw my switchblade. He proceeds to do a bunch of crazy kicks and jumpin' around, and I was somehow able to dodge it all, and sink my switchblade into his nasty little asian chest, at which point, he fell to the ground, I looked at him bleeding and I continued my walk home.
I passed my waitress test the second time around, I'm not a waitress-retard afterall. I made my own money, and I'm gonna fill my car up with some gas, maybe. I'm way excited about having some cash, and making my insurance payment, and buying a cell phone, and getting some new clothes so I don't have to walk around naked, which would be way more comfortable and cost effective, by the way. Too bad we humans have made it customary to wear clothes. Clothes can be fun, but I'd rather not dick with it when it's hot. I need an island all my own, so I can be president and the very first bill I'll sign will be the "Clothing Optional" bill. When I get that island, I'll let you know what it's called, because I'll be rich one day and I'll be able to afford my own island, and you can come chill naked with me, if you want. I'll have my own boat, too, and a big one, with all of the the ammenities you could want. I'll just travel and land a little, and then, travel somewheres else. It'll be the berries.
I hate Judge Unjust Judy. She just dismissed a case in which one sister borrowed the other sister's car and totalled it. The chick was just out. Now she has to way to work, no way to anywhere, and no compensation to get a new car. It aint right. Maybe I'll be a judge when I grow up so I can fix all of Judy's Injustices. What a bitch!
Also, if you take your grandmother out to an expensive steakhouse and your bill is $40, $1.87 is not a sufficient tip. Fuck you, bad tippers of America. Too bad I'll never know you're bad tippers until I've wasted my time filling your drinks, getting you butter, A1, Heinz 57 sauce, bread, and other dumb shit that you don't appreciate any more than $1.87 worth. If I had known that you had no class and weren't going to tip me 20%, I wouldn't have checked on you, ever. I would have let you sit there needing whatever you needed until you got up off your ass and asked someone else, or complained to the manager that your waitress hasn't been over to check on you. You in my table for over an hour is worth more than $1.87. We waitresses deal in cash, work for tips, ya know?! If you can afford to eat out at a fancy restaurant, you'd better be able to fucking afford a decent tip for your server, you uncouth motherfuckers. Decent, by the way, is about 20%. See, we have this thing called "tip share" which means about 3% our tips are automatically given to hostesses and the bar tender, and a portion of our tips is also given to the guy we call "the food runner." He's the guy who, if I'm busy taking some extra dressing to another table who's not gonna tip worth shit, makes sure that when your food comes up in the window, it doesn't get cold before it gets to your table. He runs food. I tip him out. So, at most restaurants, if you tip 20%, the server's probably only gonna take home 15% after tip outs. If you tip 15%, they'll probably only take home about 10%. You get the idea, I hope. Tip your god damned motherfucking server, for gods' sake! He or she worked very hard for you, and I'm sure his or her back and feet hurt after eight hours of that shiz. Blah, too much bitching. I need something good to talk about. Indecent tipping bastards!
Check out some other entries I wrote before I discovered the beauty of mindsay: http://ophoria.myblogsite.com/blog
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