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The Biggest Problem In My Life Right Now Aka Olives Being Served At Parties And Gatherings:

My name is Lana and I like to complaint about things that you shouldn't care about .

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This is a post about olives, in particularly, olives that are being served at parties. You see, you get dragged at an event, of course, you ass ain’t gonna go share the same oxygen with 15 to 40 other people god knows where their mouths have been… you get there and the first thing you think is of course without a doubt: oh , how can I milk this situation in way that could be a slight beneficial to me too. Find the goddam snack table, snack bar?? The piece of furniture where a variety of snack and appetizers are laid upon, also knows as the only place y’all gonna find me during any event of any kind. Anyway, you go there, and scroll you eyes through what has happened on there and you expect to find some finger sandwiched, some of those weird cookies that aren’t really that good , they’re kinda crumbly, or at least like a bowl of tortilla chips.. rite?? They should have that. But no, you ain’t gonna find that up in here cuz this bitches decided : you know what would be fun? To fuck with people and serve them some fucking green ass, salty, slimy, bitter mother fucking chihuahua testicles: olives. The amount of disrespect, the unprofessionalism with this one . Now I am the last person to turn free food away, so of course I grab one of those sweaty eye sacks and shove it in my mouth, and kinda tear up a bit through the biter, bitter, chewy yet watery fucking rotten flesh dog ass tasting sea-grape. And after all of that is gone , you find this fucking wooden nut lingering in your mouth like it knows what’s good, unless you haven’t choked with it yet. In this moment what am I supposed to do?? Cuz I ain’t putting that shit back in my mouth and swallowing it, this ain’t that kind of night for me baby. You could put it black in the same bowl it came from, you are not going to do that because you are not a fucking barbaric beast. Instead you keep this spit-covered nut-pit in your hand and walk around to find a trash can, which you can almost never find and then you’re stuck clenching your fist for the entire time, like you gonna beat someone’s mama. Even if you manage to find a trashcan you’ll have to live with the slimy residue of salty olive water and spit freely swimming on your hand, because one napkin ain’t enough for you to clean that off, an you ain’t gonna ask for another one because you are not that kind of girl, hunty! Nonono. Olives are an awful thing and I don’t have to deal with that, I’ve been through enough as it is. Bye

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