Underage Swag

Dear underage kid,

I spotted you 50 yards away. You're 5'4" and have peach fuzz that looks like midget pubes. You're not fooling anyone, but for some reason you walk up with the undeserved confidence of an oiled up guido. Aside from these telltale signs, your ID is about as convincing as a porno actor. Speaking of acting, I wanted to let you know that your performance didn't help either. Don't talk to me when you come to the door unless there is a life threatening emergency, because every word that leaves your mouth makes me want to punch you in the jejunum just a little bit more. Just hand me your sorry excuse for a fake ID so I can embarrass you in front of your friends already. I really don't appreciate the McLovin style, "Oh? I haven't been carded in so long. Makes me feel young again!" My guess is you were born in '94 you Justin Bieber little chicken shit. Don't look me in the eyes either. It's not helping, and honestly I don't want to look at your ugly face, I can already see it on the flimsy laminated card you just handed me. Don't ask me how I'm doing. I know you don't actually care, and I don't care enough to waist my breath in answer. You're denied anyway. "Come on man, my friends just walked in!" you'll say. You cannot divide by the number of fucks that I give. Since you're dumb enough to try to argue with me, I'll go ahead and assume that you didn't know that you can't divide by zero. Please leave before I mop the sidewalk with your face.

Sincerely,
The Angry Door Guy