Holy shit, man, what pack of dingoes raised you so that you think it’s OK to vacuum up a half-pint of runny snot into that gin-blssomed schnozz of yours in a freaking restaurant?
This heinous act is usually perpetrated by crusty, fat, old men who wear ballcaps into restaurants and who have long ago said “fuck off” to the standards of civilised society, but in the past few weeks I have had the displeasure of witnessing two ordinary men (and it is always men) perpetrate this crime against humanity. OK, the first one was a slacker whose clear aspiration in life is to become the youngest member of the fat old snoorkkers association (FOSA), but this was at a decent restaurant, not at Denny’s, their meeting hall of choice.
Last night took the cake, though. Look, man, Chinese food has enough unidentifiable semi-solid items floating in gelatinous sauces to give anyone an occasional shudder, but when you lay down a soundtrack to “The Sound of Mucous” to accompany the meal, well, that’s all I can take. Does not the gape mouthed stares of everyone in the restaurant directed at you register at all? Or maybe the force of your inhalations has crushed your brain to the size of a walnut and the cavity is composed of crusty boogers instead?
And to you meek enabling women who accompany said men - next time do the world a favor - reach over and slap the snot out of him!