You, sir, make a bad stalker.
I sometimes wonder about the intelligence of the human race.
Especially when there are people in the world, my own hometown, even, that honestly believe that following a girl for 7 blocks on her way to the store and talking about her hair the entire time, is going to gain their way into her pants.
To my knowledge, there is not a sign on my forehead that says “I want you to tell me what a lovely color my hair is and ask me what the natural color is while I am walking to the store.”
Also, when I claim that my hair is naturally magenta and do not even look at you, this should be an obvious sign that I am not interested in holding a conversation. I don’t care if you want to play the guessing game about my natural color, my eyebrows are a complete give-away anyways.
Now really… Making jokes about the carpet matching the drapes and hardwood floor comments are not going to gain my interest in you any further. I already lost total interest in you when you approached me with loud rap on your iPod.
Yes, I heard that.
No, I don’t care about your music.
No, it’s not because you’re black and I hate black people. (NO, I DONT HATE BLACK PEOPLE. HE WAS ASSUMING I HATE BLACK PEOPLE BECAUSE I HATE RAP. FUCK!! I HATE EVERYONE EQUALLY, I’D FUCKING HATE YOU ALL IF EVERYBODY WAS COLORED FUCKING PURPLE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IF YOU HEARD ME SAY THAT FUCKING SENTENCE ALOUD YOU’D GET IT.)
No, I’m not in the KKK.
All I want is a pack of smokes. Leave me alone.
Now I’m going to wait in the store and spend extra money on a bag of chips to eat in the aisle as I wait for you to leave the parking lot.
It should be obvious by now why I hate everybody and am a cynical little bitch most of the time.
