Illustration by Bob AulYou were the girl sitting next to your fat boyfriend at the Ruby's booth at South Coast Plaza a few weekends ago. There was a line around the corner to get a table and my pregnant wife needed to sit down and get some nourishment to our unborn son. There were two seats open at the booth but you two saw fit to spread out, filling the vacant seats on either side of you with your hats and winter coats—even though there was a handy rack on the wall. Not sure what to do, we waited a few minutes, hoping you and your significantly large other would take a break from cramming pancakes and hamburgers down your pie-holes, so we could ask you to slide down a seat and make some room. But when we asked as much of your big boyfriend, he simply grabbed his coat off one empty chair while you ignored us altogether. Your ample anteriors remained planted on your seats. So we politely asked again, at which point you finally complied with our request. But not before you lifted your head from your plate and—food still dribbling from gaping maw, declared: “It's rude to ask us to move while we're eating.” Suffice it to say rude would be more like forcing a seven-month pregnant woman to stand endlessly simply to avoid moving your fat ass a few inches. Or maybe lecturing the same about etiquette while your mouth is bursting with half-chewed food. Happy New Year, bitch, may you choke on your own gluttonous hypocrisy.
—Anonymous
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