Get Off Me

I'm serious...get the fuck off me, you douche nozzle. Don't hover so close that I can tell which brand of mayonnaise you used in the egg salad you had for lunch 3 weeks ago. There is no reason for you to be thismotherfuckingclose to my personal space. It wouldn't matter if it was a balmy 71 degrees out, I still wouldn't want you all up on me. However, the fact that it is over 100 degrees outside only solidifies my stance that you don't need to be directly on both my person and my last goddamned nerve. I am certain that my elbow room is guaranteed somewhere in the Bill of Rights of this fine nation. And if you just abso-fucking-lutely insist on getting in my no fly zone, don't be surprised when I let out a yelp and Hong Kong Phooey your monkey ass into oblivion. It's not like I didn't warn you.