Teenage Wastelands

When a young kid is dirty you give them a bath. You wash off the mud from their face and use a plastic fork to dig out the crayon from their anus. Things are so simple until kids hit puberty. You can’t go around touching naked puberty kids. They have to do those things themselves. But as teenagers will do, they hate authority. They spit on it then masturbate all over it because that’s all teenagers do. They spit and masturbate. Sometimes they combine the two. This is called spitsurbation. Nobody finds it pleasurable. There’s no reason it should continue.

I was craving an iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts one day. I had only had one maybe twice ever before and enjoyed it. I don’t like drinking coffee because I’m energetic enough and the taste does nothing for me. Ice coffee is different though. It’s like drinking the prom queen’s blood. It’s delicious and I know it will be my next addiction.

(I literally am going to go outside and get one now just because this picture turned me on so much)

The closest Dunkin Donuts to me is only a quick four block walk. I put on some pants, slapped on my shoes, slid into my jacket, and headed out the door. My first stop was to throw my garbage into the dumpster which is never fine. I always end up having to touch some strange mold. The worst thing about touching strange mold is then I feel like I can’t pick my nose until I get a chance to wash my hands. After that I went to the mailbox and paid some bills. Growing up is fun because you know death is getting closer with each day.

I got to the Dunkin Donuts fine. My first danger was only a block away when I saw the street was covered in trash and teenagers. Teenagers scare the shit out of me. They look at me now like I’m some old man, but to me I’m still a fat little boy none of them want to be friends with.

The first teenagers I saw were formed in four packs. Six of them were loud and kicking the garbage around. Soccer is pretty big in my town so it made sense they would have Fifa Fever. Another pack stood petting a dog. I felt bad for the dog. The third group was a guy on a bike riding in circles because teenagers are so lost in the world. And the final group was a girl sitting on a motorcycle eating a bagel. I don’t think she knew who owned the motorcycle. She was a blonde teenager though. They answer to no one.

(Miley Cyrus answers to no one, even the hairstylist who tried refusing to vomit on her hair)

I had hoped all of the teenagers were outside, but inside there were even more. The first group seemed decent enough. There were three of them at the start and by the time I finished my journey they were joined by a fourth. I think the owner of the motorcycle was there. He held a giant helmet. He may have also been retarded. It’s hard to tell with young people.

I hesitated to ask this group if they were in line or not. I decided to avoid communication with their species and instead walked around them. They didn’t bring up an issue so I guess they weren’t in line. I was behind a large group of pierced Portuguese kids now. Two were male and heavily pierced in the face. Two were female and had saggy asses. The main saggy assed female got six donuts. She got them in twos also. Perhaps she was instructed by God to build an Ark and bring two of every pastry.

(This somehow felt relevant)

Finally it was my turn to get to the front of the line. Whenever I order and it’s not a hot chick behind the counter I struggle. The only time I ever thrive when talking to females is when it’s in a customer/server relationship. Something about them having to wear a nametag and a sweet uniform makes me mellow out. Unfortunately in this instance the server was a short guy who looked like Frank and Ernest from the comic strip.

(Oof that is bad)

I stuttered through my order getting an Irish Cream ice coffee and three sausage egg and cheese wake-up wraps. Only less than three and I would be left hungry. So don’t judge me. I’m trying to get a grosser body before summer hits so I have an excuse not to go to the beach.

The funny looking guy behind the counter got me my coffee while the other guy made my food. I took a look around and took in how there were probably 25 teenagers in this place. I was easily the third oldest. Only two older women sitting in the corner had more years on them than me. Everyone in there was a dirty teenager too. They all had piercings, tattoos, unwanted babies from teenage pregnancies, and one was missing an arm. It probably happened when he was reaching out of the school bus like the bad kids used to do when I was younger.

A tattooed and pierced teenager went up to get his muffin. After he took it he turned around and said “That bitch just gave me attitude. I was so close to hitting him.” I was right there when this happened and the guy behind the counter did not give him any attitude at all. What’s with young men wanting to hit everyone? Take a Tae Bo class and use that energy toward something positive!

I made it a point that when I got my food I would say “Thank you” to the guy behind the counter. I always say thank you. I say it loud and proud. Sometimes I scream it so everyone else can hear. I said it very loudly this time hoping the guy with the ugly nose ring heard.

(Everyone with a nose ring looks like this to me, male and female. Your nose is for smelling mustard gas, not sticking metal through)

Then I got to thinking. It felt nice to be nice to this fella behind the counter. So I made it a point to be really nice to everyone for the rest of my 5 minute walk back. I held a door for an older woman entering the Dunkin Donuts. She looked at me shocked. I said excuse me as I left too when one of the hoodie wearing dirty teenagers stood in my path. I smiled at a child too during the trek. I never smile at kids. I hate kids. What happened to me? Then the worst thing happened of all. I let someone into my building who was there to visit her friend. She was brown-skinned too. And her friends were the Muslim women I held the door open for a week earlier. This is why I should not ingest caffeine. I become a really nice person.