Sun 24 Sep 2006
Chef’s, arrogant ass-bags that they usually are, have a tendency to wear their beloved trousers outside of the kitchen. This is not an act of convenience. The Oysterhead or Burning Man-related t-shirt didn’t give it away, so no, standing in line at the drug store, we didn’t know you were a chef. It took a criss-crossed pattern of lobsters, spatulas, and most infuriatingly, chili peppers, on a pair of thick pajama bottoms, to cinch the deal. I am in awe of you. Next up in my look at Professions Or Hobbies That Make You Dress Like An Asshole: Cyclists.
January 25th, 2008 at 1:53 pm
i know i live above a chef. he doesn’t need to wear the clothes… it’s his hair, demeanor and that rotted cooking of his. along with the fact he runs to his mommy all the time when things don’t go his way and he screams about everything.
i water plants… the water drips down to his balcony and lord almighty talk about a rampage of whimpering, whining and crybabying… many don’t care for him.. i guess when there’s a blowing rain he’ll try and shoot mother nature’s head off eh?
let alone the fact he races around in a POS car who someone beat the shit out of with their foot i guess. seems to be the delight around here, many still talk about it. i remember that day… he pissed and moaned so fuckin’ bad about how he works for a living (sure, he does) and everyone’s a scuz bucket and leeches offa his good name and kindness and he’ll kick all of our cocksucking welfare mooching asses from here to eternity.
also he feels he can violate a lease beyond comprehension because “he pays the bills around here”.
HAR! yeh, not without mother’s help i’m sure.