Would you PLEASE eff off?! I understand you’re currently running a “one-time only” sales event offering incredible discounts and ANY other crap you can think to say. You’re an irritating bastard. I want to buy something, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Just shut the Hell up and let me figure out what I want. You greasy little bastard, you look stupid in your Burlington Coat Factory suit, and your cologne could not be more obnoxious if it was made with bits of real panther.

Your fake ass smile is about to get pushed through the back of your head if you don’t stop following me around the damn store. Maybe you’ve mistaken the far-off gaze in my eyes for amazement, but I’m really just picturing imaginitive ways to make your death look like an accident. I’m not interested in signing up for a 0% (for 1 month) store credit card, but if you ask me one more time to fill out the paperwork, I’ll use it to paper cut your penis off. Piss off.

I’ve got an unbeatable offer for your bastard ass: quit hovering over my shoulder like the carcass-picking vulture you are, and I might consider giving my business to your hot co-worker over there. She’s doing three basic things right that you can’t seem to manage. One, she knows how to shut the eff up. Two, she managed to attract my attention with her boobs, and three, she’s not you. No no, don’t even think about trying to touch my arm to get my attention. My back is facing you to make it easier for you to kiss my ass.

Your November Blowout sale is what brought me into the store, cockbite. I don’t want you spouting off the same crap I can read strait from my unsolicited mailer that one of your other douche friends sent to my house. See this coupon? Hell yes I’m going to use it. 50% off, bitch. That’s why I’m here, not to listen to you try to relate to me by talking about the local sports team, and how your brother-in-law went to school with a guy who knows the mother of a professional sports player. Eat turds, prick.

I bet your mother is so proud of her youngest son. Your brother is a doctor, your sister works for a senator, and you are trying to hock some overpriced electronic towel warmer to a fellow Gen-Xer with a REAL job. I bet your Thanksgiving sucks when dad asks if you’ve decided to finish school. By the way, thanks for telling me all about your family. The irony is that now I both pity AND hate you.

Salesmen, you really piss me off.