As everyone's watching the Oscars desperately crossing their fingers to their individual choices, I am ranting about last night's incident where I almost raised my mid-finger, cracked her bone into two then break them more into pieces and reverberated the following 4 words...
Get over it, biatch!
Okay, that was an exaggeration. I cannot do such thing. I can pretty much control my anger and can still manage to initiate the count-to-10 or sing-ABC maneuver.
It happened in my asylum. In the turf where people of rank and breeding practically hang-out to study and talk.
Then all of a sudden, an old matrona-looking lady (let's call her Biatch) came over, sat right at my dorsum, then started talking and laughing so loudly accompanied by her equally noisy antique herd.
People in the room other than their group stared at each other as if an intruder interrupted a social gathering. There was a sudden pause, a 3-second erring silence.
Then there they went again... Talking... Blah blah blahs... As if nothing happened.
My Neurons: Would you stop talking so loudly?
Biatch: This is a coffee shop. This is a public place. We can do anything we want as customers. *and more blah blah blahs...
My Neurons: I knoe right? But please, can't you see? Do you mind to be a little considerate and act in a more toned demeanor?
Biatch: I do mind. This is a coffee shop. This is a public place. We can do anything we want as customers.
My Neurons: Would you just shut up and stop reverberating that statement for like a hundred million times?
Biatch: Blah blah blah... Hahaha Hahaha... Blah blah blah...
My Neurons: Just so you knoe, it's sooo apparent that it's just you and your matrona friends who keeps this previously peaceful room so rowdy. Everyone's either studying or discreetly talking. Be more considerate please.
Biatch: Hahaha Hahaha... Blah blah blah... Hahaha Hahaha...
My Neurons: B*tch!
You are sooo lucky, I didn't take a picture of you. BS!