SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

This morning I had a late breakfast at Lynn's Paradise Cafe. The food at Lynn's is delicious and the place is a lot of fun, but it's NOT where you want to go for a quiet, relaxing meal. I completely understood this going in, but I was still annoyed by the chatterbox fuckface sitting at the table directly behind me.

This man did not shut his cornbread-hole for ONE SECOND during the duration of my stay. I don't know as much about lifelong friends as I do about this chatty choda. His two dining companions encouraged his monotonouslogue by insipidly giggling at his obvious, telegraphed, hackneyed jokes. They were either the most polite people ever or as easily amused as a stadium of Dane Cook fans (I did it again, Lauren).

He was one of those people who think their every fucking thought is a historic revelation to be shared with the undeserving masses. In other words, he's like a blogger. Shit.

But you only read the blogs you want to read! He was a non-stop audio post about everything that ever happened to him from the day he peed his pants in kindergarten up to that very moment sitting in the restaurant. The guy's a douchebag wikipedia.

When his food arrived I thought he'd shut up for a minute. No such luck. He never ever ever stopped talking about the numbing minutiae of his unfortunate existence. Since the server eventually took away an empty plate, I can only assume he has a second mouth on his neck, put there years ago by rogue surgeons so he wouldn't starve to death. Yes, I think this guy would sooner perish from undernourishment than deprive the world of his voice for even an instant.

Thanks for ruining my breakfast, Man With Two Mouths. I'm sure we'll meet again when we're roommates in Hell.