By Lindsay Toler
By Chad Garrison
By Brett Koshkin
By RFT Staff
By Lindsay Toler
By Riverfront Times
By Danny Wicentowski
By Pete Kotz
So there you were, angry at us for standing up and dancing. As far as I know, we were not violating the Geneva Convention by enjoying the music just like the other 49,998 fans. Even your girlfriend looked miffed that she was expected to sit still. I saw her toe tapping. I saw her singing along.
You got angrier. "How about you sit down, girls."
(Do not for one second think that I didn't catch that tone of down-talking in your voice when you called us "girls." You said "girls" with the tone most people say "filth" or "Ann Coulter.")
We didn't sit down. You still couldn't crane your fat, barely-distinguishable-from-your-bowling-ball-sized-head and neck around us. "You are a f****** b****," you said to me.
Now, I've never been that shy about expletives. I can even say that they enhance our language when used in moderation and in appropriate situations. However, there were children around. You, Tubby, were out of line. I asked you to speak up so everyone could hear what a gentleman you are. You were happy to oblige. You then told me that I was lucky that my boyfriend wasn't there because you'd "kick his a**."
I doubt he'd be dumb enough to bury his fist into your dimpled, pudgy midsection, for fear of never getting it back.
Thank you for reminding me why "general admission" really does mean that all the restless excrement of society can slither on in and make themselves at home. I hope you had a lovely evening and that your girlfriend dumped you in the parking lot. She looked horrified at your behavior.
I'd say that I hope we meet again, but I don't go to donut shops that often, so it's unlikely that I'll see you.
P.S.: Next time, get a larger "Pujols" jersey. The buttons on that one were under an insurmountable strain to hold in your gut.
Ever get the urge to jump up and ____ this damn town? Tell Unreal about it! firstname.lastname@example.org.