Hey (Trader) Joe

Dear Joe,

We have a love/hate relationship. You make some pretty nifty shit food. Your frozen Organic Brown Rice is a real treat when I need a complex carb on the quick. Your NonFat Vanilla Yogurt is da bomb, albeit a bomb with a lot of sugar. (Although I and my cancer fighting cells do appreciate the use of real sugar and not aspartame.) Your parking lot is a scene 24/7 and what I mean by scene is you could not have hired a more incompetent engineer to have crafted this maze of tomfoolery. Its probably the location where I finally will succumb to road rage and what I mean by road rage is I’ll abandon my car in the middle of the lot and just go shop, because there’s a good chance the 85 year old woman backing out of her narrow spot will still be mid K turn when I return with my organic quinoa. UNLESS, I’m returning with this:

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

I walked in here with perhaps a MODICUM of self control.

I’m not equipped to withstand this kind of temptation.

For the love of God, please stop.

HOW FAT DO YOU WANT ME TO BE?

Listen-you don’t want me to become too fat because then my extra large ass isn’t going to be able fit in your parking lot, and I have a hard time opening my car door in those narrow ass spaces to begin with.

Love,

The Fat Kid in Me

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