The other night I patronized one of the kebab places in my neighborhood. Two things happened: (1) I ordered a sandwich with samurai sauce (Yes, that’s right. SAMURAI SAUCE.), and (2) a parisian man tried to steal my fries.
If there is one thing that you should know about me, you should know that potatoes are my kryptonite. Not chocolate. Potatoes. Fried. Mashed. Crinkle cut. Curly. Hash-browned. Diced. Chipped. Baked. All of it.
I LOVE POTATOES.
So, needless to say, when some parisian assclown tries to steal my fries as some kind of charming banter/play for my heart… this didn’t end well for him.
It all started when Mr. Potato Thief tried to chat me up by asking me whether he should order fries.
As a potato-lover, I scoffed at him and responded affirmatively with a resounding, “OF COURSE”.
Mr. Potato Thief ultimately opted out of fries, citing the fact that he “was on a diet”.
What a pansy.
When my order arrived, complete with samurai sauce, I was thrilled as peaches and proceeded to ignore him in order enjoy my meal.
But Mr. Potato Thief had other ideas.
He got up very close to me, reached across my chest and jokingly made a play for my fries.
All I remember feeling was this blind, hot rage, and the following things occurred:
1. I grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the table.
2. With his pansy little wrist still firmly pinned to the table, I got up very close to his face and just growled, “DEGAGE”.
3. When his friend rushed to his defense and demanded to know what I was doing to him, I finally let go of his wrist and just responded, “He should’ve ordered his own fries”.
I’m not sure what Mr. Potato Thief and his friend got up to afterward. All I know is that the sympathetic kebab worker gave me extra fries to make up for being harassed by a potato thief. And that made everything right with the world.
But let this be a lesson to all men the world over.
Unless, of course, I give you permission. But that would mean that I really like you.