An Open Letter to the Parent of a Former Customer

Dear Foul Wretched Spawn of Society,
I am truly sorry your precious snowflake did her absolute damnedest to be removed twice from our store by stealing, moving her lips and producing such a great wind as to knock over merchandise, and then refusing to place it back where it belongs, which I see you’ve taught her well. Also, her complete lack of respect to anything or anyone also attempting to acquire our merchandise is appalling. So upon her recent removal, you graced me with your cross-eyed, spandex enveloped, lice and crab infested presence. You did not care to speak to the store’s manager, who both times, as you informed me, removed your princess from our place of work. Instead, you came to me. With your breath of swine and nicotine, you asked first “Weren’t you Anthony’s sister?” to which I replied “I still am, despite his passing far too soon at 16.” Neither of these facts have anything to do with your failed abortion straddling her fur-covered animal friends in the store, but that certainly is not your concern. Instead, your banshee-like shrieking tells of your woes and sorrow for not being able to spend another dollar in a store which is based on things no one actually needs. Ever. We do not carry food, or housing, water, or air; so to see your thong-juice-crusted-one-dollar bills and brown and green nickels leave is not a particularly painful waste for us. (Well, it may have been for you… I thought I saw blood on the last one.)
As a great and powerful last stand against the CORPORATION, you have the audacity to speak against a dead CHILD to their SISTER because your lack of morality and decent humanity taught your STI-oozing, wreaking, round, 14 year old “princess” that she owned everything and could destroy it at will. Well, let me tell you, that if you step one more scum-drenched, gooey foot on the premises, or if I have one more whiff of your stinking, cow manure laced, cum-guzzling, salty breath, I will hit you so hard your lazy eye will be the over-achiever.
Love,
Weekendsquire