Bitch is goin DOWN

I'd like to think of myself as a fairly mellow, peace-loving individual. I say good morning, hi, isn't it a swell day. I use please, thank you and excuse me in every declarative sentence. I avoid arguments on such topics as religion, politics, and/or sex. If you still have a problem with me, well, let's sit down over green tea lattes and try to work it out. My treat.

But sometimes, when the moon's in retrograde, I'm PMS-ing, or I just woke up in a real shitty mood, you best avoid me at all costs. Guys usually get it; they take one look at the head spinning and the flecks of green vomit flying towards them and they simply turn heel and run away. But girls...why you gotta choose TODAY to size me up, give me a snotty look, or make a catty remark about my shoes? Why you gotta choose today to be throwing yourself, like a cheap, two-bit hussy, at my boyfriend? Because, much to my chagrin, I then have to grab your dry, overprocessed, rat's nest of a hair-don't and slam it into the nearest wall, over and over. Or take your knock-off Gucci heels and pop out your eyeballs with 'em. Or break off those badly-done acrylic tips, one by one. Can't you just leave me be? Can't we all just get along? OK, tell you what. After you get out of the hospital, let's try to work this out over a green tea latte. My treat.