Picky Pigs at Work Hello shitlords and shitladies!  I'm on summer break from college, which means that, apart from wandering around my college town on a "safari" (soooo many fatties) I'm working at a part time job in the evenings (after my internship, which has provided me with TONS OF STORIES that'll get their own couple of posts after this one) to try to save up as much money as possible for the coming year. I work in a sports bar again this summer, the same one I posted about a couple of times a year ago.  To briefly summarize: this bar boasts massive portions of appetizers at heavily discounted prices for a few hours each evening, as well as an array of beetusy drinks served from open to close. It isn't unlike many sports bars in America, but this particular place is sandwiched amongst many healthier spots, and has its own parking lot, making it a place for obeasts to flock. The joint is staffed with lots of skinny young people, so we have a good old time making fun of them and pestering them, and not honoring their ridiculous requests.  Today, a hambeast (formerly femayo) came in, and she just looked awful. I mean, there's a regular level of awful that all hams are, just because of the fact that their arms have fupas and their eyes are all weird and sunken in and they're al each to healthcare resources and they smell like stinky cheese, but this one was just BEYOND.  Picture this: annoyingly perky college sorority girl participates in keg stand from mid-senior-year to approx. mid-twenties, so she's got those yellowed eyes and teeth, bloated, nasty stomach, and doughy limbs. Ok, now that same girl gets a job at Sephora, where she uses her employee discount and "you go grrrrrrrl!!!!!1111!!!!!1" attitude she picked up from her hambeast coworkers to paint her face obnoxiously everyday with shitty, melting makeup. Now, this girl marries your run-of-the-mill bitch-guy, and keeps his balls in a tiny, leopard-print decorated Mason jar under the kitchen sink. Through the help of a broom and a mother-in-law, she births a son, named Coltynne.  This bitch isn't in my section, but I'm taking some sandwiches over to her table. The first thing I noticed is the son, who is too busy playing video games at an obnoxious volume to take his food. Shit parent. Ok, now onto the beast. She notices the sandwich baskets are stacked and asks, "Lemme guess, you don't wash those." "Excuse me?" I say, not knowing what she meant.  "The baskets. They sit on each other and they're making the food diiiiiirrrrrrrrty," she whines.  "Oh, no, ma'am," I say (I can tell she doesn't enjoy being called "ma'am", because although she looks skyward of 45, the waiter to ID'd her (courtesy ID) said she was actually 28). I tell her, "We wash them everyday. Health and cleanliness are really important to everyone who works here!"  "Well, I don't believe it," she huffs.  "I can bring you a new one!" I offer sweetly, my hands already taking her sandwich basket away. "It'll be just another ten minutes or so!"  Ten minutes. This calorie-cunt can't wait ten whole minutes for a new sandwich (when nothing was wrong with her old one). And the second she sensed that she wouldn't get to keep the other one for free, she decided that, "Well, I guess it's fine."  I hate hams.