That Giant Cunt From Dough

Dough serves some quality fare.  Real tasty, that has been established.  What is not so savory about said Dough?  That two day old can of tuna that guards the door, seating and my booze.  She wears stupid glasses that probably improve her appearance being that those wire frames serve to distract from those butthole eyes.  Apparently she sleeps behind the TJ Max.  She has a deal with them.  She gets to sleep by the back door and gets free khakis, in exchange for her sleep-farts keeping away thieves and bums.   She takes a hose bath every other week with the used soaps she finds in the dumpster from the Wedgewood.  This woman really rains of my parade.  I am loyal and well paying patron of Dough, and I feel I am owed a little respect.  VIP respect.  If I knew when her day off was, I would dine on those days.  But she doesn't seem to have days off, she is always there!  Probably to pay for all the tape she has to use to conceal her roast beef curtains that she has too tape to her thighs.  I am officially boycotting Dough until that horse face is gone.  When I come in I want table right away, a table of my choosing.  Is that too much to ask?  While she dicks around with the white trash and mexican nationals that now fill the tables there, I will be elsewhere hating her.