Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the fresh air, but something magical happens when Mr. Pickles takes to the course in a brilliant ariel display of the finest game ever to be played.
Pickles has gone from swift-kicking people in the balls to outright stabbing them. I’ve long known of Mr. Pickles affection for random aggressive maneuvers during outings of drinking (See Mr. Pickes Post - Bar Math…) Where he tried to find explnation of why there’s a photo of my arm on his cell phone…
IT’S BECAUSE YOU STABBED ME WITH A BIC PEN ASSHOLE!
And of course like two little girls we run off the the bathroom and inspect the damage… soon forgotton I remember I like having my picture taken
WTF was I thinking, “Sure everyone lets go back to Panda Express, there’s no way they could still be running out of food at lunchtime”
OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS….
no food, nothing, some shitty 3 hour old crap that never sells and maybe a pathic springroll.
It’s 12:30pm at a major intersection and you have no food, I hate you, really Panda Express I fucking hate you. I’m hungry and so is the 6 people behind me. Screw this I start a scene.
“This is why I hate coming here, there’s never any food and they are never prepaired” (This draws looks from the Mexicans cooking my Chinese food) I continue “I’m going to Chiplotes, whoever heard of a chinese place that out of Fried Rice for crying out loud.”
At this point they start to panic, I never cause a scene and I’ve never been one on confrontation but I see myself losing $9 to a place I should of known better then to come back to!
I’ve officially lost my mind, I take out my cell phone and start taking their pictures in a fit of journalistic rage.
Dear Panda Express,
I’m not a fucking Panda, I don’t eat bamboo, FEED ME