Excuse me for not wanting to be seen with my mother’s pants.
I sat next to this for seven hours last night on a red-eye from LA to New York. She smells like Lycra and desperation.
Excuse me Commonwealth Bank Teller, stop trying to be my friend. You are not my friend, you are my bank teller. Do your job rather than asking me what my plans are for the weekend. My plans for the weekend are none of your business.
Excuse me Bogan, please stop accosting my eyes with your dirty Southern Cross tattoo. It is not cool and it is not patriotic. The Southern Cross is not only visible to “your” country, but to the SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE.
We’re not even the only ones to have it on our flag. How about you spend less taunting the immigrants that ruined “your” country and more time googling national flags. Better still, how about googling the history of the country that you claim to love so much and discover that your ancestors migrated here, and were not born here.
Please stop giving Anglo’s a bad name with your Bogan claims of patriotism….or at least stop getting the Southern Cross in frangipani print placed on your cars. My eyes beg you.
Happy Australia Day!
Excuse me bus clogging up my lane. Get out. You have your own, stop being selfish. Is it not bad enough that I am forbidden to drive in your lane, but then you must mock me and drive in mine at a noticeably slower speed than I have the ability to travel at? You are worse than Veruca in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Excuse me hard pear, stop trying to be an apple. You are not an apple. You are a pear, start acting like it.